I Am Peeta
by scheiGuy
Summary: Highschool AU. Peeta Mellark has been a social outcast, for the reason of not caring to fit in, for the majority of his life. With the beginning of his sophomore year of high school, how will he handle his embarrassing parents, crazy friends, brutal enemies, alleged suicide attempt and the fact that the two most popular guys in school are pining over him? Cato/Peeta/Marvel OCs.
1. Chapter One

**A/N:** Hey guys! Whew! What a rush to fill in your first A/N, huh? Well let's see... I've been reading lots and lots of your guys's's's'sss amazing fanfics, and when this completely unoriginal (lol) idea popped into my head at like 2 in the AM I couldn't sleep, so I had to get it out. And here it is.

The story is, obviously, based on THG, and more loosely based on the TV Show "Awkward." I think that show's fucking hilarious. I will be using a.. lot of things probably from that show, and if you watch it like I do - DON'T SPOIL IT! Please n danke :)

All right. This chapter came out supremely long and I'm not sure if I'll keep every chapter this long, only time will tell. This chapter is rated M for sexy times. Note: sexy times will probably be on the rare side in this fic. It'll probably be more implied than anything, but I wanted to come in with a bang! First time smut, first time fic. WTF CAN GO WRONG?

**Disclaimer: I do not own the great HG characters, or the plot twisty things of Awkward, no no no no no. Besides terrible similes and the like, those are mine.  
**

I hope you enjoy!

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**Chapter One:** _**"So, who'd you hook up with?"**_

"_Run, Peeta! Get the hell out of here!" _

Keira, is that you...?

"_What are you doing still lying around? I said go!" Not being able to argue with that high shrill of a voice, I pushed myself off the blood-ridden ground, which was more than likely my blood, with all the strength I could muster and bolted. _

_As I limped off I managed a glance over my shoulder, seeing none other than my best friend since the age of six, Keira Kirby, give me one last peaceful look, before turning back and fighting to the death in this god-forsaken place: The Hunger Games. _

_Blood and death filled the air and infiltrated my nostrils, like they naturally grew on the trees that surrounded us. Everywhere I went I was attacked by that horrible stench, and the memories that came with it – primarily the death of my other best friend, Miyoko Shin, who had told myself and Keira that there was no chance in hell she was getting out of this alive. Out of 24 teenagers only one could survive. Yoko was one of the first to go. I felt something, far down in the pit of my soul, die at that moment. I would never get the privilege to make fun of her when she preferred to eat a burger over rice again. _

_Now that I had stupidly, foolishly, dim-wittedly let my first and last friend to her demise, I felt a sudden pain in my chest. I collapsed onto the ground, the ground of which was the very last sight for many young souls that week, and began convulsing. I couldn't control my body, or my mind to do what I wanted them to do, and helplessly let the sanity slowly seep outwards from my form, as I closed my eyes not knowing what to do next. In my mind's eye appeared Keira's face, sadly smiling at me as I ran from her, ran from the girl who stood by me through thick and thin. She wanted me to win, but how would I? How could I? And why me? _

_And then, a boom. A cannon. _

"Oh my god!" I jolted upwards, screaming bloody murder as I awoke from my nightmare. My forehead hit the wood from the bottom of the bunk-bed above me. I was definitely more than awake now.

"Fucking bitch..." I mumbled to myself, rubbing my temples, as I knew there would be an unsightly mountain protruding from the upper-half of my face some time soon. I quickly went back to my nightmare. That was the second time I experienced it. What did it mean? Did it even mean anything? Other than the fact I was possibly a future psychopathic serial killer. Guess my mom was right.

I heard some rustling from the bed above me, and I mentally slapped myself for being so loud and stupid. And I especially didn't want the guy above me to wake up and catch sight of me like this. Not even fully back to reality, hair appearance similar to that of an unkempt lawn, face of a zombie. A zombie with a tumor.

No, anyone but Cato Morley.

"Peeta! Are you all right? I heard..." Cato popped his head into the lower half of the room, which was my domain, and let his sentence trail off as he spotted me, as his gorgeous milk-chocolate eyes spotted me. "Oh wow, that looks... bad. Let me go get some ice."

Not wanting any interaction this early in the morning, especially with the guy I've been crushing over since the third grade, I tried waving him off. "No, really, I'm okay. Just a slight bump. It's nothing," I lied. If I didn't know any better I would have sworn there was a tiny hole smack dab in the middle of my forehead, going through labor pains, ready to give birth. This son of a bitch hurt.

Practically ignoring me, he gracefully leapt from the bed above me, swinging himself over the side of it, and hitting the ground with a silent thud. "No, that's not just a bump," he said as his face slowly inched closer to mine, inspecting it carefully. It didn't seem like he was just inspecting my forehead, but my eyes, my lips, the tiny brown mark on my nose, my soul. I think I started to lean in when he finished his sentence. "That's a tumor."

The smile that had unexpectedly found its way onto my face was instinctively replaced by the most menacing scowl I had to offer. I backed away, further into my bed, and averted his gaze. "Yeah, maybe you should go get that ice." He ruined the moment. Or, at least, what felt like a moment. To me, anyway. I wanted some space, space that was much needed after waking up, space that I had not received this morning and it seemed to be messing with my psyche. "Thanks," I mumbled, ruffling my sheets, signifying it was time for his departure.

Cato took a few steps back, confused by my sudden change in attitude. "Yeah, sure... I'll be right back." He turned around, headed for the door and briskly jogged toward the camp's nursing center. I looked out the window, and it was then I noticed he was shirtless, his bulging muscles swaying back and forth as he moved. I tried to look away, but I was hooked, like a fish caught on a line. I was powerless to his form, gasping for air, waiting for it to disappear, waiting to be unhooked and tossed back into the ocean. One does not simply ignore the body of a god. He entered the building and I felt my body unconsciously breathe again for me.

I was left alone with my thoughts. I was thrown into this summer camp by my parents, particularly by my mom, who had noticed my lack of a social circle besides my two best friends – she thought I could reinvent myself over the summer, become the popular jock she always wanted me to be. I laughed at the thought. _Sorry, mom. Not all of us can be as pretty, outgoing and slutty as you were in high school._ I told myself coming into this place I wouldn't change for her, or anyone else, and stay true to myself: reserved, quirky - "invisible," as I often thought of myself: Peeta. I know I could be a Cato Morley if I so chose, minus the perfect good looks, but that wasn't me.

My mind slowly drifted off, to the boy who was retrieving my ice, to the boy I had known for quite some time. Known of, anyway. We were from two entirely different worlds – my face stuck behind a good book, his behind a football helmet; and, occasionally, the faces of beautiful teenaged girls who threw themselves at him, desperate for his attention. I never understood why he let them. Hormones, I guess. I felt like he was better than that, ever since our first encounter.

I was 8, in third grade. He was 9, in the fourth. It was recess time and, like everyday since I met her, I was by Keira's side, while she went on about how cute this boy she talked to earlier was. We sat on the end of the longest, most winding slide in the playground – our spot. At that age we didn't know why that slide saw so few kids, but we were glad of it. "I mean, he said 'Hi' to me. Doesn't that mean he likes me? I totally think it does," Keira went on. Thinking back on it, she was one hell of a boy-conscious child. "Mhm," I mumbled.

"Well, since you agree I'm going to go talk to him. Wait here for me. I'm probably gonna need someone to brag to." She got up, patted down her ensemble like she was attending a red-carpet movie premiere, and briskly walked off, hips a-swayin', that walk only signature to Keira. I picked up the book that previously lay lonely for quite some time by my side, _The Apple Pie That Papa Baked. _It was my favorite book of all time – that book practically made me into the person I am today. My family owned a bakery, and my father had given that book to me on my eighth birthday. He told me it was his way of being with me, always. I brought that book everywhere I went for two years straight. My mom's larger-than-life present was a blue and white, long-sleeved T-shirt that read on the front "Sports Guy," with footballs, soccer balls, so many different balls I couldn't and didn't want to name, stylizing the rest of the shirt. As she handed it to me her youthful smile (my parents were only in their low 30s) was so bright I almost went blind. She was determined, I'll give her that.

As I propped myself onto my elbows, I opened my book, reading from the start for the thousandth time. Just as I was getting comfortable, I heard a boy from behind me yell. "Wooo-hoo! Yeah!" I felt the green ocean of plastic surrounding me vibrate as his body slowly descended down the tube, knowing that I wasn't fast enough to leap away, and that this would probably hurt. He finally came into view, with eyes closed and an award-winning smile plastered onto his face. Before his journey came to an end he opened his eyes, expecting a smooth landing, only to find my frantic self waiting for him. THUNK.

Cato's body collided with mine, and with its accelerated force sent both of us flying onto the sandy ground below, my book finding its way out of my hands. His limbs were strewn atop mine, with the wind clearly knocked out of both of us. We laid there for a few seconds as the children nearby came to ogle. When I realized I was still alive, I noticed he was on top of me, and began to blush. His eyes met mine, his golden, spiky hair only a few inches from my dirty blonde locks.

He spoke. "Hi."

"_Hi"?_ That's all he could manage after practically assaulting me, my book probably buried beneath centuries of sand in some God-forsaken place that wasn't my arms? Though angry I was, and knowing it wasn't totally justified, I wasn't sure how to respond.

"Uh, hi," I whispered. We remained there, eyes locked, for another good five seconds, before I realized it became hard to breathe. "I kinda can't breathe with you on top of me," I managed to say.

"Oh, right. Sorry." He jumped up off of me, dusting himself off before out-stretching his hand to meet mine, and pull me up. I began to dust myself off as well, and stopped when I noticed he was dusting off my backside. I took it as a physical apology, but only managed to blush further. "You know, you probably shouldn't sit there," he advised. "It seems sorta dangerous."

"It wasn't until you came along," I replied as he continued to dust me off. "No one ever uses that slide."

"I know, and I don't know why – it's the coolest slide we've got!" he beamed as he finished his dusting, like I was some sort of old cabinet that hadn't looked good in years, and came to meet me, face-to-face. "I'm sorry for sliding into you, again," he pouted.

"No, it's okay, it was my fault for sitting there. Won't happen again," I said, looking over myself to make sure my clothes didn't match my idiotic looking face. "I just wish I knew where my book went..." In no time he sprinted off, scanning the area for my precious pages until he finally found it, underneath a bench not too far by. He ran back to me, panting, with that beaming smile that made me weak at the knees. Why it did I didn't know. "Is this it?" he breathed out.

"Yeah, that's it!" I was excited to see it was still in perfect condition, as he dusted off the cover, much like he had done to me, and placed it into my hands, his face beaming even brighter than before. I held it close to my chest, never wanting to lose it again. "Thanks," I mumbled, somehow finding the strength to keep his gaze without passing out. "No problem," he said before turning around and running off to his friends. Before he began talking to them, he glanced back to me one more time, smiling. I faintly smiled back before gravity told me to sit down. He turned away. "Marvel, did ya see that? I must have been going 50 miles an hour!" Keira came running from the other side of the playground as soon as she heard what happened. "Peeta! Did you just get groped? I can't believe I missed it! Why couldn't you have waited for me?" _Thanks, Kiera._

And that was our first encounter. We attended the same schools – elementary, middle, high. Cato was a year older than me, so naturally I wasn't in many of his classes, much to my dismay – I was a year ahead in math so we shared those classes in middle school, and now in high school, but that was it. We had a few other encounters over the years, nothing substantial, just a couple Hi's and Hey's. We managed to get bunked together, in camp, since our last names were so close alphabetically. I wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. At this point I took it as a sign that I must have done something horrible in a past life.

It's not like I thought about him day in and day out, I'm not a damn stalker, but when my mind wasn't preoccupied Cato was the center of my thoughts, and I didn't know why. He was cute, sweet, funny.. I mean, who wouldn't think about him? I quickly gave up chasing him two years after our recess fiasco. He had his first girlfriend in the sixth grade, I heard. And that was it – I moved onto bigger and better things (or, at least, that's what I told myself). I prided myself on my knowledge of all things scholarly, I was good at it: math, science, and mainly literature. I rarely spoke in class, I didn't feel the need to. Everyone assumed I hadn't the slightest clue as to what was going on. When the tests came, though, that was cleared up, real quick. Though my real talent, and passion for that matter, lay in the kitchen – baking, to be exact. Nothing sets the mind more at ease than the golden sight and wholesome smell of freshly baked bread, and knowing that you were the one who set it into creation.

Realizing I had drifted off into a vast sea of memories I pulled myself back to reality, back to the tumor growing inside my head. I covered my forehead with my right hand. Shit, what am I going to do about this?

The guy who had just recently clouded my mind... again... was stepping out of the nurse's station, hauling a bucket of ice in one hand and a bunch of Ziploc baggies in the other. Still shirtless.

Enough of those thoughts. I laid myself back down on my bed, blanket overhead, pretending I was attempting to fall back into the warmth embrace of unconsciousness, awaiting his presence. The screen door opened with a slam, followed by the door after that, with an even louder slam. Was he in a hurry or did he not know how to control his massive mass of muscle? I heard him set the bucket of ice onto the ground before kneeling down to assist me.

"Hey, you haven't passed out yet have you? The nurse said you may have a concussion after I told her how violently you attacked my bed with your head," he chuckled. I shook my "belligerent" head under the covers as a response, though he didn't seem to catch it. His voice broke the silence again, frantically. "Peeta? Peeta!" He ripped off the blankets that once cocooned me and I almost thought I would go flying with them. Our eyes met and I saw his face relax.

"Did you think I was in a coma or something? I told you it's nothing," I reassured him. He looked away without saying anything, only to pack one of the plastic bags with ice before placing it on my head, like he was angry at me. What'd I do?

"Well, bad things happen to good people. I was..." his voice trailed off. My mind finished his sentence for him: worried? Why would he be? We barely know each other. He placed his hands back at his sides before standing up. "The nurse said to replace the bag every time it liquifies. Think you can manage that?" he continued with an irritated tone.

"Only time will tell," I replied, equally irritated. Not only because of him, though mainly because of him, but because tonight was the last night of camp, when the ritual end-of-the-summer bonfire took place. I wasn't too keen on the sports-centered activities throughout the summer, but I didn't want to miss free smores and a good fire. And with this freakishly huge lump forming I might have to.

Looking up at him, at Cato, I couldn't find it in myself to stay angry. I sat myself up, back against the headboard, clutching the bag of ice this boy was so generous to retrieve for me over my heart. "Thanks," I mumbled. Well, this seems familiar.

"No problem," he answered. Did he remember our playground fiasco like I had? Was it one of his cherished childhood memories like it was mine? No, that was probably one of his normal responses. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to shut it two seconds later. I watched, almost fascinated, this deer in headlights, stumbling over the rocky road that held our few encounters. What was he trying to say?

"Uh," he scratched the back of his neck. "I think it's around 7:30, nearly time to head to the mess hall for breakfast... You want anything?" It seemed like it almost pained him to throw out those two sentences, one not even complete.

"No, I think my body's pretty full on pain. I should have some leftovers though, if you're interested," I replied, smiling, trying to destroy the awkwardness between us. It helped. He laughed softly, an angel's laugh, before throwing a plain white T-shirt over his torso. walking to the door and grabbing the handle. Before he turned it, he stopped in his tracks, stealing a glance over his left shoulder. And then, there it was, that smile from so long ago, scampering its way back onto his movie-star features, only for me to see, only for me to stare in awe at. I felt the air leave the shack, heat rising in my cheeks, before he turned back and left, like so many years ago. That only raised the question again: did he remember? Did he care?

I laid back down, placing the freezing bag of torture back onto my forehead, and falling into a deep sleep. The rest of the day was a blur. I went to the nurse after waking to hear the swelling had gone down and no real damage had been done. I could attend the bonfire. That was a plus.

I wandered alone throughout the camp, the midday sun harshly devouring my form. I visited the spots that meant a little something to me, drowning myself once again in memories, this time recently made. The giant oak that I climbed, fortunately with Keira, whose parents had also sent her here on the notion that she was a trouble-maker, after she was caught drinking at a graduating senior's party last summer. It was all innocent fun but her parents weren't having any of that. They were surprisingly strict, something I didn't expect after fully learning Keira's personality. That's probably why she was so fucking crazy. I remembered her hanging off of a branch, upside down, long dyed-red hair raping her tan face, with only her legs acting as support, screaming like a howler monkey. Definitely nuts.

After laughing to myself like the maniac I was I came upon the soccer field where Cato spent most of his summer days, half of them shirtless (shameless little bastard). I'd walk around with Keira and come across it every once in awhile, sneaking looks here and there (shameless little bastard). He didn't look too bad. He could also play pretty well.

The sun's placement hovering in the sky told me it must have been around 4:00 PM. I'd have to return soon to help with the bonfire preparations. I am stoked about that.

A little more walking and I found myself by the lake. Swimming, rowing – whatever water activity you could name, we did it. I walked down the dock, receiving a "think, thonk" from every other footstep. The wood's melody below worked wonders with the harmony of the wind gracing the fronts of my ears, until I reached the end. I was practically lulled into a semi-conscious state, rocking back and forth with the invisible force surrounding me, imagining the events to come this school year. _Well, I've already got freshman year down, that's the roughest, right? Knowing Keira will be there every step of the way only makes things that much-_

A sudden, startling greeting from behind heaved me from my thoughts. I already knew who it was without seeing his face or fully registering his voice. "Peeta!" Fucking Cato.

Before I knew it I found myself falling over the side, and plunging face first into the oddly comfortable warm water. The thought "_Cato, you fucking idiot" _surfaced to the top of my head, as the top of my head surfaced above the lake water. I brushed my (now fabulously wet) hair out of my eyes, spat some probably feces-filled liquid out of my mouth before verbally attacking the boy who stood a few feet away, quietly chuckling to himself like he had witnessed the sight of Queen Elizabeth picking her nose, and wasn't allowed to mention it.

"So, uh, Cato..." I began like everything was normal as can be. "Didn't your mom ever teach you not to come up behind someone and nearly scare them to fucking death?" My tone increased in volume and intensity by the end of my sentence, but it didn't phase him – Queen E. was still diggin' for gold, and he found it downright hilarious.

He knelt down so he wouldn't have to yell for me to hear him. "Of course. Every little boy is taught that... But my mom also taught me, and I'm guessing you missed this lesson, to pry strange people out of strange behaviors. You know, for shits and giggles," he smirked. _Screw you, Mrs. Morley._

"Ha, ha, ha," I forced out. "Tell your mom us strange folk don't appreciate that much." Then a sense of curiosity came over me, completely devouring the fact I was floating, in a lake, water up to my chin, feet struggling to find some ground. I splashed around a bit before asking my next question.

"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be, like, co-hosting the bonfire this year or something?" I wasn't even sure one could co-host something like a bonfire, but seeing as his presence was always made known, everywhere, I figured he'd been asked to put the majority of it together.

"Well, I guess I was..." He paused, looking down at the wooden dock on which he was kneeling before catching my gaze again. Unmistakeable seriousness clouded his features. Was he about to tell me he had murdered someone and dumped their body into the very water I was ingesting? 'Cause I can't handle that right now. "...Following you." Oh.

"Oh," my mouth spoke for me without permission. I was completely dumbfounded. So many questions flooded my brain, more so than this damn water. Questions like "Why," "Didn't he have better things to do?" And most importantly, "Why?" After searching the murky water for answers that wouldn't come I gained control over my speech again and held those questions for a time when I wasn't about to pull a Natalie Wood. I met his gaze, which still held its previous seriousness. "Think you can help me out of here before I catch pneumonia and sue?" He relaxed, for a second time today, smiled and out-stretched his hand. I clumsily swam to him, my over-sized shirt acting like a fortress I had to break my way through. I grabbed his hand, and with both of his he heaved me out of the water and once again onto dry land.

I was soaked. I was also freezing my skinny white ass off, which I found odd considering it was a summer afternoon. "You're shivering," he pointed out. "Come on, let's get you warmed up." He took my body in his arms as we walked, periodically rubbing his hands on my shoulders to fight my icy temperature. We walked back to our shack in a comfortable silence. I occasionally looked up to catch sight of his marvelous face, to make sure I wasn't dreaming. My drenched form helped with that.

As soon as we entered I stripped down to my midnight-black briefs, not caring what I looked like or who I was with. I was just so damn ecstatic to be rid of those clothes. I plopped onto my bed, face first, not feeling the need to look for warmer clothing when my blankets should have sufficed, right?

Cato thought otherwise. "Here, at least wear a shirt." He handed me one of his camp shirts. I tossed it on. It was two sizes too big for me – I was a small, Cato a large. On him, it fit perfectly – his 6'2" muscle-ridden body easily stretching it and letting the shirt conform to him. On me, a fucking nightgown.

The thought left my mind when I caught a whiff of his scent... Cigarettes and cologne. _This must be what going mad feels like._ I could have fallen into a blissful sleep right there if I wasn't still shivering. Being so observant Cato crawled into my bed and wrapped not only his arms but his entire body around me, like a magical shield, warding off evil. I forced myself to stay awake to enjoy this moment for whatever it was worth.

As I felt his nose nuzzle into the crook of my neck I decided now was as good a time as any for my onslaught of questions. "Where'd you get the smokes?" was first up. I didn't want to run straight into the lion's den, not just yet.

"Oh, I have my ways," he answered, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. He leaned in closer, lips hovering over my ear. "I stuck 'em in my underwear our first day here." Damn. The visuals. Lucky sticks of cancer.

"Sneaky," I answered. Not only was he the poster child for teenaged boys everywhere on the outside, but a conniving little bastard on the inside. Perfection. He must have known I smelt it on his dirty clothing because he didn't ask why I had asked.

"You gonna snitch?" he wondered out loud. I couldn't tell if he was serious so I stretched my neck to catch his gaze. I got the feeling he wasn't. "Seriously?" I questioned him before resting my head back down, facing away again. "Only if you don't say anything about me and Keira vandalizing Clove's shack." I wanted to let him know I wasn't exactly innocent, either.

Clove Nieves was a conniving bitch, and not in the good way. At the beginning of my freshman year, Clove and I met in English class. We had a mutual liking over books, and though she could be an asshole at times, she never was one to me. And she was fucking brutally hilarious. One day she received an "unacceptable" grade on a report of hers. She told our English teacher, who ironically was Hispanic, "Maybe you should go back to your home, the magical land of sombreros, where tan-skinned faeries roam free, devouring enchiladas to their hearts' content. You clearly can't understand the power of this essay if you can't even speak the language it was written in. Phone home, Senor Galvez. Telefonean a casa," bobbing her head up and down like she had offered some Nobel Prize-winning advice. If anyone else said that? They'd probably be expelled. But no, not Clove Nieves. She came from a family of wealth, who "generously" donated a wing to the school. She was golden. She was protected. She was untouchable. And she knew it.

Senor Galvez quit the next week.

One day, after about two months of knowing the bitch, I came out to her. She had a way of prying your most inner, darkest secrets from you. She swore to secrecy. I felt like I could trust her. How wrong I was.

Life went on normal enough, for about a week, until she noticed me talking to a crush of hers. She told me at some point how she felt about him, though it was probably only feelings of lust. We were laughing, joking around, when I caught sight of her from the sidelines glaring at me. Did she think I was trying to steal him away? I was pretty sure he was straight. After he left she came up to me at my locker. I could swear I saw fire leaving her heels and nostrils, only to engulf me when she finally arrived.

"What. Do you think. You are doing?" she enunciated. "You know he's mine."

"Yeah, Clove, I wasn't-"

"I don't want to hear it. I know what goes on in that head of yours. You sick, perverted freak. I thought we were friends." Was she serious? Projection, much?

"Clove, you know I wouldn't-"

If the daggers flying from her eyes into mine weren't painful enough, the thud of my head against metal sealed the deal. I stood there, shocked by the amount of force her tiny body could produce, as she stormed off. The next day I came to school and saw what must have been hundreds of posters plastered onto the concrete walls. Posters that said "Peeta Mellark's a fruit-cup!" There was a picture of my head cleverly photoshopped onto a fruit-cup on every poster. I couldn't even remember the guy's name.

We never spoke to each other again.

Cato's sudden fit of uncontrollable laughter brought me back to the present. Oh, right. I was cuddling with Clove's current crush, telling him how I made a fool of her only a week ago. "No way! That was you?" I slowly nodded my head up and down. "Man, I never thought you'd have it in you."

"Guess there's a lot you don't know about me," I replied.

"Mm," he lazily moaned, further nuzzling into my neck. "Guess not."

I finally found the courage to unhook his arms from my torso and flipped off the left side of my body and onto my right, now completely face-to-face with Cato. We inspected each others' faces, much like we had done earlier that day. The sun was setting and a brilliant hue of orange set his golden hair aflame. His lips were pursed and his eyes were dreamy.

"Why were you following me?" I asked bluntly. Now was the time for some real answers. "And you called _me _strange?"

"Hm," he mumbled. He thought about his answer for a good ten seconds before continuing. "Do you remember that time in elementary school? Where I ran into you on the slide?" My heart began to race. So he did remember. "Yes," I simply answer, never averting from his gaze.

"Maybe I was hoping, if the universe allowed it... to feel you, to touch you again... like that day." I felt my body begin to vibrate. His words were like an unstoppable train, and my body the tracks on which it ran. He noticed I wasn't making a move to respond. "I didn't wash that shirt for two weeks, until my mom finally made me after I spilled some spaghetti sauce-"

The crashing of our lips shut him up.

After about five seconds of Cato not physically responding, I was about to pull away. Was I being too bold? I thought he wanted this. Wanted me. Maybe I read this whole thing wr-

His face moves for the first time in what feels like centuries. He kisses back, hard, unrelenting. Our lips do the complicated steps of the tango, never wanting to part, full of fire and passion. I feel his hand cup the back of my head, playing with my hair. My hands find their way to his shirt, pulling the fabric closer to my chest. We both needed the air, so we parted. Our eyes locked – I could see an eternity within those brown spheres. My mom once told me the first time she ever held my father's gaze for longer than necessary, she could see her future in them – her children. Well, child. And I felt that, right now. Was I just projecting her own experience onto this hormonally affected teenager, blowing things out of proportion? Cato's eyes wandered down to my lips, as he licked his. I didn't care at that point – I just wanted him.

Shirts came flying off (both of them his, ironically) before our kissing took a turn for the sexier. I had never done this before but it felt so natural. We clumsily made our way to the closet, to be sure we'd have no interruptions. I found the knob, threw the door open, pulled him inside and closed it with just as much force, all the while our faces never relinquishing contact. His tongue ravished mine as we groped any sort of skin our hands could find. He grabbed my ass and slammed me, hard, into the wall. I've never been more turned on, until a bag of sugar decided to ruin the moment and pour its contents onto our heads. I thought it a sign from the universe to stop while we were ahead, until Cato spoke.

"I'm hot, sticky sweet..." he panted.

"...from my head, to my feet," I finished.

God decided to throw me a bone that day. A bone slathered with desire and gift-wrapped in perfection. Nothing would stop us now.

We were back to making out in a flash, even wilder than before. My hands found their way to his waistline, masterfully undoing his belt buckle by touch alone. I carelessly tossed it onto the floor. Before I knew it I was also on the floor, with Cato's groin in between my legs, touching mine. My arousal was as easy to see as a rainbow in the sky after a brief spring rain. _Wow, be a little gayer next time, Peeta. You could be the next Liberache._ Up until that point I hadn't known whether Cato was just as "excited" until I actually felt "it" brush up against me, through his jeans. _Kill me now._

I pouted when Cato stood up, missing the warmth of his body. If I was cold before I surely wasn't now. He undid his pants button, stepped out of those blue jeans and proudly displayed his manhood through his thin, white- and pink-striped boxers. _Yep, gonna die._ He knelt back down to resume the contact he recently broke, grinding our groins together, with only the cottony material between us, as we kissed. Thrust, after thrust, after thrust. He playfully swung his hips back and forth, enjoying the contact. I could have lost it right there if he hadn't stopped again. I was getting slightly aggravated when he chose to pay more attention to his pants than to me. He was searching his pockets for something. _What is he looking for, _I thought._ A portrait of his grandma to confess his sins to?_

He pulled out a square piece of plastic, with a ring protruding through the material. "Well that makes sense," I said to myself.

Upon hearing this Cato couldn't help but laugh. "What, do you think I was searching for a picture of my grandmother or something?" It took no time for me to be by his mouth's side again. _Could he read minds? Or were we even better for each other than I always hoped we'd be? _I pulled him down to the ground, lips still dancing, my right hand holding a death grip onto the back of his neck. We kissed and ground for another few minutes before I noticed, some time within those moments, Cato's boxers managed to become quick friends with the door knob. When did that happen? Before breaking our lips' contact his hands were at the tip of my boxers, gently playing with the elastic band before pulling them down with more force than a saltwater crocodile's bite. He looked down on me with eyes not only full of lust, but satisfaction, like he had wanted this to happen as long as I had. _Shut up brain and pay attention, dimwit._

"You sure about this?" he asked. I nodded. He slowly placed the condom onto his, what must be, 8- or 9-inch member (let's say 8.5 for argument's sake), before continuing. "Is this your first time?" he asked with sincerity in his eyes. No judging, just brutal honesty, vulnerability. Unfortunately I couldn't give it to him.

"Psht, no. No way. Done it more times than I can count," I said casually, a little too casually actually. I can't believe I said that. Cato was just looking for the truth and I couldn't give it to him. I was a lying sack of shit and I regretted it. I tried playing it off – I didn't want him to think I was a whore, especially since I was anything but. "I mean, not that many times, but, you know," I stumbled. "This ain't my first rodeo." _Smooth, dumbass._

He knelt in a state of confusion, before relaxing a bit. "Yeah, of course, me neither..." he trailed off. That wasn't too convincing. Was Cato Morley, the hottest specimen to grace Panem High's halls, a virgin too? Well, if he was, he was a lying sack of shit like me and the thought lifted the weight of the world off my shoulders.

"Well then, by all means cowboy," I began my first session of dirty talk. I lift my head to reach his left ear, and breathed lightly. "Give me something to ride."

In a blur of motion he grabbed both of my ankles and set them on top of his shoulders. He devilishly smirked down. A sudden urge came over me. I propped myself up, onto my elbows, and grabbed hold of his right hand, which was previously holding my left ankle in place. I separated his index, middle and ring finger from the rest of his hand and shoved them into my mouth. I slathered as much saliva as my mouth had to offer onto them, before taking them out and shoving them into my rear. I threw my head back and moaned. I saw stars, I saw God. I saw Cato Morley hovering above me with the most angelic face this world had to offer. I pushed and pulled his fingers, in and out, before he got the message and started doing it on his own. He hit my prostate, almost knocking me out. Or maybe it was the fact I had threw my head back with such force that when it met the wall I heard a nice thud. Whatever, I was too into this to care.

He scissored and rimmed me, his barely noticeable facial hair tickling my behind. I smiled at the thought. Then, without warning, I felt it. I felt him. Inside of me.

And it fucking hurt.

I screamed, probably a little too loudly, before he pulled out and looked down at me with concern. I waved it off, kissed him and pulled him back down to me in a way to let him know I could do this. He pushed back in, slowly, ever-so-gently, and pulled back out. A few more times and I had gotten used to it.

"I'm ready," I said with no breath, but all confidence. He nodded. In a second he was back inside, and together we moaned. He found a steady rhythm – not too fast, not too slow. Call me Goldilocks. He leaned in to attack my neck (a mark would be left, I guessed) while keeping the pace steady, never breaking his stride. I whispered "Faster" into the ear that was now hovering above my face. He kept at my neck while quickening the pace. With each thrust I felt myself getting closer to my climax.

That was until everything in this God-forsaken closet decided to fall on top of us. First, the rusty old broom hit Cato on the back of his head, earning a simple "Ow," yet the smile on his glistening face never faded. Old cleaning rags fell onto mine – I tried swatting them away like a swarm of pesky gnats. Where'd Cato's face go? I missed it. His hands gracefully pulled the rags from my face and discarded them onto the floor. I mouthed a silent "Thanks." He mouthed a silent "No problem."

Cato continued his pace, thrusting faster and faster each time, our eyes never leaving the other's before I felt a warm blast of liquid fly onto my stomach, four different times. I sighed a deep breath of relief. Cato was still going, like a madman, my head repeatedly slamming into the wall, only picking up speed when finally his time came. I felt him convulse inside of me, while coming to meet my face with his in a kiss, signifying the end of our journey. There's no way to describe that feeling. Pure bliss. He moaned huskily before collapsing on top of me, still inside, not yet pulling out. We lay there panting for a good while – his head resting on my rising and falling chest, me stroking his beautifully sweat covered hair. I never thought silence could be so golden. He passed out before I got to tell him how wonderful he was.

I watched him, for what must have been two hours – petting him, tracing his shoulder blades, counting every mole I could find (four, so far). I could have stayed there 'til the cows came home. Unfortunately those heffers took a taxi cab and I realized what time it was.

Fucking bonfire.

It pained me to wake him but I had no choice. He probably didn't mean to pass out either, so it was for the best. I gently kissed the tip of his nose, descending onto the gap of skin between his nose and lips, and finally my lips met his. I heard him breathe in heavily before kissing back, unconsciously. Hopefully he wouldn't be too startled and think this a mistake upon realizing who I was. He opened his eyes, still hazy from sleep, and smiled.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hey," I whispered back. I stroked his hair some more. "Sleep well?"

He snorted. "'Course. When a dream comes true you can't help but sleep peacefully."

I sat there for moment, a smile slowly creeping its way onto my face. "That's probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," I replied and kissed his forehead. "If you had really dreamed of this why haven't you done it earlier?" I wondered out loud. "Made a move, I mean."

"Well I thought you'd find your books more interesting than me. I couldn't stand the thought of you rejecting me," he answered truthfully.

"_Me? _Reject _you? _I don't think even Angelina Jolie could do that," I joked. I had no idea... It was almost heart-breaking, knowing we were both aching for the other and suffering through years of what we thought was unrequited desire.

He laughed and started drawing circles around my right nipple. I began to feel myself "grow," and as much as I wanted to do it again (and as many times as Jolie had kids) I forced myself up, threw on my clothes (which wasn't much), left the closet and opened the door to the shack. Cato followed suit and met me by the door, a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, bringing a hand around my waist, holding me close. We stood and watched the sun set – the sky combusting into different, wondrous shades of yellow, orange, red and purple. I decided there that my love for Cato wasn't your average color of fire – it was purple, the color of fire only the sky held. A fire doused in love. I stood on my tippy-toes to bring my lips to his cheek before getting into some proper clothing.

"Bonfire?" I asked simply after changing.

"Bonfire," he replied, smiling. We left the cabin, fingers interlaced, walking toward the stream of smoke that overtook what must be half of the camp. As soon as we arrived, setting our sights on the 50 or more teenagers gathered 'round, I felt Cato let go of my hand. He looked down at me before whispering into my ear "I'm gonna go meet my friends. Is that okay?" _Okay?_ I just gave myself to him and he didn't even want to spend the rest of the night with me. Though he feared I would reject him, he was rejecting me.

"Yeah, sure, I was gonna go look for Keira anyway," I played it off. "I haven't talked to her in a day or two and I think we've got some catching up to do." He kept my gaze, before a scared look came over him. "Don't worry, I won't tell." I looked around to see if anyone had noticed our arrival and kissed him on the cheek before wandering through the mass of people to find Keira. It was kinda hard not to find her – she was hopping up and down, screaming her lungs off. Oh, how I missed her, that crazy bitch.

"Burn that fucking wood!" I heard her yell over the voices of so many others. Hers was distinguishable, of course. "You call that a bonfire? My grandmother's gas stove gets flames higher than that!" I tackled her into a hug before she could notice my presence. "Peeta! I'm so glad you're..." She stopped and inspected my person. I let go of her and froze, wondering if that criminal mastermind of hers could deduce I just had sex with Cato Morley. My eyes flickered over to where he was standing, drinking out of a red plastic cup, talking with his friends. Thankfully Keira didn't follow my gaze as my eyes returned to meet hers. "Where the fuck have you been?"

Phew. I could dodge this bullet. Pointing to my forehead I answered. "I bumped my head an hour ago and I was trying to get some rest before this shindig. Then I heard your nails-on-a-chalkboard voice pierce my earlobes from two miles away, so I decided to try and calm you down before this whole camp went deaf." I must admit, I had a way with words.

She bought it, and turned her figure back to the bonfire. "Well maybe if these _pansies _knew how to build a flame they'd be able to keep their hearing! **Come on**!" She egged on the camp administrators before placing her drink onto the ground and running over to the forgotten gas can across from us. She grabbed it, her face contorting into the face of what I can only imagine to be The Devil, before throwing it into the flames in front of her. She let out a victorious "Wooo! That's what I'm talkin' about!" before being dragged away by the counselors like a mad person.

"Peeta!" She thrashed in their grip, calling out to me. "Finish what I started!" she mouthed. I could just barely make out what she said with the light of the fire only just catching her face. Her eyes lead me to another gas can, not far from the one she had picked up.

_Well, it's been real kiddies, _I thought to myself. This day has already been the best of my life, so why not place that plastic, fuel-filled cherry onto this sundae of a fire? I skillfully made my way through a number of kids, not bumping a single one of them like they were some sort of alarm system, waiting to feel my presence only to alert the bad guys at the end of the level that I had breached their security. I made my way to the can, slowly picked it up and ran to the front of the fire, smack dab in the middle of the crowd.

I felt a wave of adrenaline and courage wash over me. "**Anarchy!"** I screamed (the first thing that came to mind), before throwing the can into the flames. The fire responded with a loud cackle and the growing of the flames that danced in the night sky. It was then I noticed everyone around me, cheering at my rebellious display and chanting my name. How did they even know it? Looking around I knew barely any of them. I heard a loud "Wooo! That's my bitch!" from behind that could only have been Keira, before I found and locked eyes with Cato. He licked his lips, much like he had done earlier that day, and began to approach me. I was walking toward him when all of a sudden two counselors grabbed me from behind. "You're coming with us," the bigger one said, stuffily. _Asshole._ While I was being whisked away I saw Cato mouth something. I squinted my eyes and shook my head in misunderstanding, and he mouthed it again. _I owe you? Fly above boob? _And then it hit me.

Time slowed. The sounds of cheering dissipated.

_I love you._

Frozen in place by the sudden confession of love probably wasn't the response he was looking for, as I read from his face. I was looking for one too, but couldn't find it. I have never said that to anyone, nor received it (besides relatives, and Keira and Yoko, of course). Why was it so hard to say? I know I love him.

The involuntary dragging of my feet pulled me back to my senses. They lugged me into the sterile-lit main office, and threw me onto a chair, where I was with Keira again. She beamed and waved violently. "Oh. My. God. Wasn't that the best moment of your life?" She nodded her head, waiting for my approval.

"Yeah, it was pretty intense." My mind managed to drift back to just a few hours ago where Cato and I lay in that dusty old broom closet, where we had sex. Where we made... love?

"So," she continued, "if we're not banned from coming here next year I'm totally doing that again. Do you think they would ban us? It's not like it was illegal or anything." Before I got a chance to answer, her mouth refused to stop moving. "They're calling our parents. Guess we're too bummer for summer and we're being forced to leave tonight. Counselors are in our cabins, gathering our things as we speak. Luckily," she flipped her fiery hair, "my parents aren't home. Hence, _summer camp?_" She verbally attacked the man who was no doubt attempting to reach her parents. He looked back at Keira like he was afraid of her. And he probably should be. She began filing her nails.

"You can always grab a ride back with me, K."

"Oh, great idea! Then we can talk about our individual summer experiences on the way home. I mean, with you being strictly-dickly (I always hated that term, but when it came to Keira saying it, it was almost bearable to hear) you've got to tell me about the hottest abs this camp had to offer!" Her eyes grew in fascination, probably trying to imagine what I had, indeed, seen.

Then, without notice (and this was very Keira-esque), she took a hold of my shirt collar, invading that personal space we all have like it was non-existent and pulled it down, my neck with it. She inspected my skin, head cocked for some time before letting go and speaking, my collar now forever wrinkled.

"Peeta, what the fuck is on your neck?" she tactfully inquired.

I thought for a second and couldn't come up with anything. "What are you talking about?" I answered honestly. She looked at me like I was dumb.

"Peeta, is that a hickey?"

Oh. That.

Fuck me.

Instinctively I raised a hand to cover the spot, remembering that Cato had marked me. Instantly I felt all the heat from our session pour into that single spot. _Bastard. _How was I gonna get myself out of this one?

"Uh," I started, for once in my life not being able to squirm my way out of a sticky situation. Keira knew I was having trouble and took her hands in mine.

"Oh my god! Peeta, you slut!" She obviously didn't mean it to insult, but I at least wanted to keep this a secret for as long as I could. "Looks like our little talk's gonna be more interesting than I thought." Still not finding the right words I got up and walked out of the office, only to find my and Keira's belongings being chucked into the back of my dad's ("manly," as he often described it) SUV. Keira ran outside to meet me when I turned back to her.

"Can we talk about this another time? I don't think now is... ideal," I said. She nodded, understanding my predicament. "Don't say a word of this to anyone, got it?" I wasn't usually this forceful, but Keira didn't notice it anyway as she brought up a hand to her lips, locking them before throwing away the key. "Thanks." I hugged her. I don't know why I had looked for a friend in Clove. I just needed Keira.

"You know I'm shit at keeping secrets, so you owe me one." I nodded. I was about to ask her what she wanted when my mom came and shrieked at the sight of me.

"Ohhhh! My little boy! You handsome little devil, you!" She wrapped her arms around me before suffocating me in a bear hug. "I missed you so much!"

"I missed you too, mom," I said almost uncaringly. I could go a week or two more without her nagging me about popularity and sports. My dad fortunately came to my rescue and pried my mom off of me. She went to go greet Keira.

"Hey kiddo," my dad said before ruffling my hair with a smile on his face. When anyone else did it I grew furious, but when he did it I didn't mind at all. I actually kinda liked it. "Have a good summer?"

"Better than I thought I would," I replied, embracing him into a hug.

"All right, let's get out of here, you delinquents," he said, ending it. "Your mom was just cooking some food when we got the call. Food's gonna get cold."

"Sounds good," Keira and I said. We hopped into the car and took off. It was only a matter of minutes before my mom began to talk. She turned around, beaming, before asking the most awkward thing I've ever been asked in my life.

"So, who'd you hook up with?" she asked, shamelessly. Sometimes I think if my mom were half her age she and Keira could be identical twins.

"**Mom!"** I exclaimed before turning to Keira, who was looking at me pensively, damming the river of words she wanted her mouth to let out. I looked back to my expecting mom.

"What? Oh, please, I was fifteen once, too," she began. I heard this before, and rolled my eyes as my mind finished her sentence. "_...And not too long ago, either."_

"And not too long ago, either!" _Surprise._ "I know what goes down in those shabby cabins." I blushed feverishly, faking a cough to hide it in my sleeve. "And so does your father," she winked. Blush – gone.

"Gross, mom... Can we not talk about this?" _Unless you want me to throw up on your pretty little face._

"Sure, honey, whatever you want. I'm just glad to have you back!" she said as she pinched my cheeks.

"What am I, five-years old?" I gritted through teeth and red, pulled skin.

"You'll always be in my eyes," she said as she let go and sat back in her seat. The rest of the ride home was normal, my dad talking about work, and sports. My mom going on about about how some new push-up bra she just bought made her boobs look incredible, until we reached a fork in the road.

"Keira, would you like to stay over our place? I know your parents aren't home," my dad asked. He was a sweetheart.

"That's okay, Mr. Mellark. I just want to unpack my things and hit the sack." We arrived at her place, and helped her unload her bags and carry them into the house. And by we I mean my dad and I.

She hugged me one more time before going inside. "I will be calling you tomorrow, PP, and you better answer, and you better, _better_ tell me what happened to that neck of yours." I nodded. She had a right to know, I never kept anything from her before, nor her from me. She was the sister I never had but always wanted.

I nodded. "Promise." I grabbed her pinky in mine and shook on it.

We arrived home a few minutes later. I rushed to the door, not caring about my things in the car, to be greeted by the wonderful smell of freshly cooked lasagna. Not cooked by my mom, of course. I began to run up the stairs trying to reach my room when I caught my foot on an article of clothing... Men's underwear? _Dad's _underwear? Oh God, no.

It was good to be home.

Before I could reach my room and crash for the night, I heard my mom scream from below. "Honey, if you won't eat with us, at least take your heap of mail to your room with you! It's burning a hole in my new marble counter-top!" I complied, running back down the stairs and grabbing the eight or so envelopes and carrying them back to my room.

Most of them were bogus scholarship and college applications. Boring. I was about to dump them all into the trash can in the corner of my bathroom when I came upon one that caught my eye. It had no return address – instead, in the top left corner it read "Must read. Important!" Handwritten. Well. Guess I gotta read it then. I turned the hot water lever for my bath right, plugged in and powered on my electric clippers before sitting down on top of the toilet seat, tearing open the envelope to find out what was just so damn important.

I wasn't ready for what lay in store for me.

The letter had miniature stars surrounding the top and bottom borders, horizontally. It was typed to near perfection, eliminating a good percentage of my friends as possible writers. It began...

Peeta,

As you are now, you could completely disappear and no one would notice. Below is a list of suggestions for your consideration:

Number 1: Stop being a pussy.  
Number 2: Your instincts suck. Second guess them.  
Number 3: The only people more pathetic than you are your friends. Drop the dead weight.  
Number 4: When you're handsome, you're happy. And clearly you're not happy.  
Number 5: Pull your head out of your ass and stand out.  
Number 6: Nobody likes the pitiful. Stop being such a drag.  
Number 7: You have to be cruel to be kind.  
Number 8: You're gay. Maybe you should act like it.  
Number 9: Make amends.  
Number 10: Pretend you want to.

A friend.

_What the..._ The letter I had just read left me in a state of complete emptiness. I re-read it about 5 times, or more. Someone actually felt this way about me? I couldn't comprehend it. Did Clove write this? That fucking bitch, she couldn't just get over her petty-ass problems, could she?

No, it couldn't be Clove. She would never sign with "A friend." Clove was many a thing, but a friend she was certainly not. Or maybe she was trying to confuse me?

As I looked down again to re-read it I noticed the words flying off of the paper, merging together in the steamy air. I closed my eyes and held my temples as my brain began to pulsate. I couldn't think of this right now. Tears began to overtake my eyes as I knelt down to the bottom of my sink, opened its doors, and found a bottle of aspirin. My headache was spiraling out of control at that point. I took two pills in my hand – they looked abnormally larger than the other times I had taken them, but I told myself I've taken bigger, and threw them down my throat.

Unfortunately my trachea was a bit exhausted as well, and I began to choke. On two fucking pills, really? Should I count how many times I've done this in the past few years? Not choke, the other part. I began clawing my chest for some breath to find none. I keeled over the sink, knocking the opened pill bottle onto the floor, scattering the red and white capsules everywhere, which quickly came to consume the entire ground. I looked into the mirror for what could have been the last time. The letter was right... I'm a pussy. My instincts sucked, I couldn't even down a few pills. The friends part I just couldn't agree with, and if I survived this, I promised myself I never would.

I had no time to lament on the rest as I felt myself growing weaker and weaker. I lost my balance, lungs still void of oxygen, when I must have slipped on a pill and went flying backwards. I tried gripping the edge of my sink for support, only to found my buzzing clippers, which then found itself in the bathtub. My bathroom lights flickered for a moment before my head made contact with the floor, knocking me out cold. I had one thought before the darkness surrounded me.

_Cato._

* * *

**A/N:**

So? What'd you think? If it's too long I can halve 'em up :D, and if it's too stupid I'll just chop it all up into pieces. D:

Do you like Keira? The idea of her cracks me up. She wasn't intended to be Foxface, per se. I wanted a more outrageous character so I invented her.

Do you think anyone is too OOC? Let me know and I'll try and explain why I wrote them that way in my next update.

Any questions/comments/concerns at all? Leave my a review or sumtin' and I'll get back to you ASAP! This is my first fanfic so I don't expect it to be perfect.

Again I really hoped you enjoyed yourself and come back for more.

Love 'n' Peace,

Scheiguy


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: **Huzzah update! It's been a couple of days, I think a reasonable amount of time, right? This chapter is about half the length of the previous. It'll probably be this way from now on. Last chapter was full of backstory, which was much needed, and I apologize if you are disappointed with this D:

Next chapter should be better. I needed to further Peeta's lows to quietly strengthen him a bit. The letter may seem like a bad omen but it'll only make him grow as a person.

I was wondering how you guys felt about my HG dream Peeta had experienced last chapter. I wanted to tie in the series, sorta, in a weird way. Idk. I thought it was neat. It's how this chapter will start, if that's okay. I probably won't do it again for awhile unless you guys appreciate it :p Enjoy!

_**Shoutouts!:**_

_**LabRat3000:**_ That is so flattering! And I'd probably agree to it as long as you'd place me in a room full of Cheez-its, apple juice and good music.

_**FA2015:**_ Ugh it's such a good show. You should watch it. Well, no you shouldn't. Cause then you wouldn't read this. Comically serious, I like it. Thank you! This chapter is more on the serious side, I hope you still enjoy it :)

_**Guest 1:**_ Thank you! This may be going too deep into it but I felt like Cato wouldn't be as ruthless a person if there were no HG to train for. If that makes sense. I always saw him as a sweet guy. Clove... not so much.

_**Cray-Cray:**_ Haha! You love the word cray-cray don't you? Don't worry Marvel will make his appearance some time soon... In this chapter maybe? You'll have to read to find out :p

_**Kurskin:**_ Don't worry, I feel your appreciation, no words needed :D too nice of you. I hope it didn't take too long to update :(

_**Beau-t-ful:**_ Thanks for appreciating the detail! I love those crazy long fics as well. And yes! You got it! It was Peeta's first time so of course he's gonna be a little awkward about it, yknow? I hope to not disappoint!

_**Bonds of Light:**_ Thank you so much. Ahhhhh!

_**Guest 2:**_ Thanks for that. I've decided the upcoming chapters won't be as long, if that suits your fancy :)

_**Guest RR:**_ Ty tytytytytyytyyytyty! Being a HS AU I just don't feel like many people beat their kids now a day, I mean, I know a few friends have gone through it. But this is an AU, and with Peeta being her only child, I feel like she would at least pretend to like him. She does like him, though. And about the letter – good! :D

_**Harshy:**_ I totally understand. I'm really worried about it all, too. Do you watch? It's a great show, that's a fact. I just hope I can get the results I want to get, but I gotta make my own means :/ Gonna be rough.

_**Raven Knightly:**_ Thank you! As Keira would say, "You better fucking love me!"

_**Random Heart:**_ Haha thanks! I thought so too ;) I'd probably like this so much more if it weren't me writing it!

_**YA77 and Fadi:**_ You fools already know whassup ;) Love ya guys! Thank you for the constant support! (And readers, go check out their works if you haven't. They're fucking phenomenal!)

* * *

**Chapter Two:** _"**This year wouldn't be like anything I had expected."**_

_The repetitive sound of metal crashing together forces me to my senses. Where's that coming from...? And how have I survived this long? Oh, right. Cato. Always the answer to my many questions. He's been protecting me for days now. I look up from the ground to spot him, deflecting knives, by none other than Clove, with his sword. Masterfully. The way he moves with that weapon could be considered an exotic dance in most countries._

_For the (what feels like) millionth and last time, I push myself off the ironically fertile ground, stumbling to my feet. Cato hasn't noticed my awakened-self yet, as he jabs and slashes at Clove, barely missing each time. She's told me she despises her small, underdeveloped frame before. She's probably taken that back now. Well, who knows, actually. She might prefer death over below average-sized boobs. Unconsciously insulting her psyche I pay attention again to her battle with Cato. Seems like she wants to win, the way she throws those knives with such poise. Or maybe she just wants to kill Cato for him choosing me over her._

_Either way, bitch's gotta die._

_I take in a deep breath before making my way to the battle, about 20 or so feet away. I see both of them – Clove's right side, and Cato's left facing me, spread out like a beautiful horizon before my eyes. They're both handling themselves extremely well. It's no wonder they both received 10s as training scores. A measly 8 doesn't deserve to win. But I'll help him win, though. I'll do anything in my power. _

_Last four._

_The fourth and final tribute decides to make an appearance – and not one filled with smiles and unicorns. He's rushing with a machete, in a bee-line towards someone else, totally ignoring me. My eyes follow his projected path. Of course – he's going for the deadliest tribute while he's preoccupied. Fuck that if I'm gonna let it happen._

_Forgetting about the pain in my leg until sprinting off, I run faster than I ever have before. This is it, I have to put everything I have into this one moment. Two seconds of stalling could mean life or death for Cato. Thresh finally catches my gaze, and accepts that his attack on Cato will be prolonged for another few moments. He cancels his advance, turns to me and simply struts, grinning maniacally. He knows the outcome of this fight. _

_And so do I._

_I crash into him, almost expecting my body to bounce off of his monstrous form effortlessly, only to find ourselves on the ground, rolling around for dominance, mud flinging onto our faces. We squirm for a few seconds, before I manage to sit on top of him, attempting to strangle the life out of him, to set his soul free. His grin only grows wider. What's there to be so happy about? I've got him in a stranglehold. I hear the boom of a cannon, hoping that Cato has won and will join me soon. Unfortunately that doesn't happen._

_I feel a foot of rusty metal find its way into my stomach. _Oh. I'd smile about that, too._ I collapse onto the ground, like I always seem to do, clutching my torso. I catch sight of Cato's darling face, covered in blood, as he falls to his knees, dropping his sword. He's all right, just a little shocked. I see his jaw unhinge, hearing him call out my name in deep sorrow, tears gathering in his penny-colored marbles. _

_I keep his gaze as long as I can. I want the last thing I see to be that being of a perfect creation. _Get up, Cato. Pick up your sword,_ I think to myself, hoping my thoughts will find themselves amongst his. _It's time... for you... to go home...

I'm instantly blinded as my eyes slowly open. I scan my surroundings. White. Why is there so much white? IV's invade my arms. I go to pull them out, foolishly, as I find I can't move my right branch of bone, muscle and skin. It's hung up in a cast at a 90 degree angle. _Just, fucking, great._

And I need to stop having these fucking dreams. Psychopath.

The memories come flying at a break-neck speed. The letter. The pills. The fall. For a second there I thought my dream to be a reality, and I've ascended to the pearly-white gates of heaven.

I'm not that fortunate, though.

My dad, who I just now notice, sees me struggling. He looks like complete shit: puffy red eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, short and messy dirty-blond hair, much like mine. He pulls his chair closer to my bed, cupping my face with his hands before seeing me wince in pain, then grabs my free hand.

"Peeta," he lets out simply.

"Hey, dad," I whisper. My voice is still harsh from the lack of use for... how long? I didn't know. "How long have I been out?" I wondered out loud.

"Three days, five hours. I haven't left your side," he says, gripping my hand even harder.

"Yeah, I can tell. You need a shower." I regret saying it, he probably won't be amused by my childish humor after being stuck in this dull room for ages.

He chuckles, rubbing a thumb over the top of my hand. "You do, too, kiddo."

"I love you, dad." I don't say it enough, and he needs to hear it, especially now, because I almost lost the privilege to ever say it again, and it's the complete truth. "More than you know."

"I know you do," he smiles. His next question is the one I've been dreading to hear since my awakening. "Why'd you do it? Why'd you try to? If you just told me what was going on in your life, I could have..." He begins to sob. I hope he doesn't think he's failed me as a father. He's been phenomenal throughout my entire existence, being a friend, but also a firm hand when I needed one.

"Dad, please... don't. You're gonna get me going, and no one wants to see two men crying together. It's just plain weird." My humor is unrelenting.

He wipes his eyes, letting out a smile for what I imagine to be the first time in 77 hours. "_You_, a _man_? Don't make me laugh." Only, that makes us both laugh. _So that's where I get my humor from. _I stop once I find myself in pain, again.

"Dad, I didn't-" I start, only to be cut off by the swinging open of my door, my mom finding her way in, wearing a bejeweled red top, and skinny blue jeans hugging her legs, her dark brown hair seeming to be even wavier than what I remember. She looks delighted, and pained, to see me awake.

"Looking for a date, mom?" Her appearance sets me off. Why couldn't she be a parent every once in a while? Again, I find myself immensely glad I've grown to be more like my paternal parental, as opposed to the other one.

"Oh, sweety," she begins. She finds herself by my side. "My little man, I was so worried about you." Her tone's sincere enough. I'll let her slide for today.

"Thanks, mom. But I'm okay now, apart from a few whacky dreams. Seriously, I think the statement you made about me being a serial killer could be oddly accurate." Obviously not seriously, but I'd like to cheer her up if possible. She's not all that bad. She begins to sob. _Well, that backfired. _She gets up from her chair and walks to the corner of the room, not facing me.

"I knew I shouldn't have done that... I knew it. So stupid, so fucking stupid," she says to herself, her sobs growing in intensity as she covers her face with recently pedicured nails. The silver stars covering them are quite nice, I have to say.

"What? What are you talking about?" I ask her. What is she thinking?

No. _Stars_. The letter. She couldn't have. Actually, she could have. But would she? _A Friend._ She's more of a friend than anything to me.

This isn't happening. This can't be fucking happening.

As I feel water begin to form in my own eyes again, she turns to me, wiping the tears from her face, thinking a moment before speaking. "I... I shouldn't have forced you to go to that camp," she gets out, crying harder. "You obviously hated it. I thought you might have, but I thought... I don't know what I thought. You hated it, though. Something must have happened there, so you tried ending-"

"Mom." I cut her off. "Don't." I didn't want to hear the rest of that sentence. My voice is steady now. "I didn't hate the camp. I actually found it enjoyable," I reassure her. She smiles. "Thank you," I say softly. She rushes back to my side, hugging me just as softly as I had spoken. It wasn't a half-assed hug, either, like the ones you get when you first meet someone. It was filled with love. I hug her back – well, attempt to, with my one arm. She kisses the top of my head, pets it, and returns to her chair, folding her hands into her lap.

"I didn't try to kill myself," I say bluntly. How else was I supposed to say it? Via clown telegram? It's better to be straight-forward at a time like this.

"Then... What happened?" my dad asks. I can tell how confused he is, and how much he cares.

"I was going through my mail... About seven envelopes in I found a... strange one." It was hard to go through that all again. "It had no return address. I opened it, after getting ready for my bath. It stated that as I was now, I could disappear... and no one would notice." I could never forget those words. They burned me, they burned my everything – I was a recently branded farm animal, branded with the word "invisible," like I had often imagined myself to be.

My parents looked to each other, stunned. My mom looked back to me before taking a hold of my hand again. My dad turned his head toward me, grabbed his chin, and rubbed at his stubble desperately before speaking. "I'm so sorry, son." He turned back to my mom. "Lily, did you know about this?"

Huh. I was wondering the same thing.

"No, of course not," she replied, defensively. "I don't go through Peeta's mail, George. You think I'd allow him to read that?" My dad shook his head before propping his elbows onto his thighs, holding his head in his hands. Still shaking his head.

"I didn't try to kill myself, though," I stated again.

"Of course not, sweety," my mom patted my hand. My dad held up his head and followed through, "We all go through these sorts of things, son. It's okay to feel down but what you did-"

"**I didn't try to kill myself! **I had a headache! I choked on two pills!" I let out in a rage. They still looked at me, unconvinced. "Why don't you believe me?" I began to sob, but I tried to fight it back, tried to be strong, tried to show them I wouldn't do something so stupid and irrational.

"It's okay, Peeta, it's okay... We believe you," my dad reassured me.

"Good," I said, wiping my eyes. I was pissed off again. "Would you guys mind leaving me for a second? I need some time alone." This sterile room alone was suffocating enough, not to mention two over-bearing parents touching me and crying non-stop. I grew sick of this real quick.

"Sure, honey," my mom said softly. She kissed the top of my head again before heading out. My dad placed a kiss on my forehead before following her.

"Phew," I let out a sigh. Not only had I missed the first day of school, which was suicidal enough, I had to deal with an actual "suicide attempt." That last day of camp couldn't have gone any better, though. Thinking back on it, was it all a dream? The best dream I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing? I strain my neck, which had been wrapped in a cast, as well, forcing myself to gaze upon the right side of my body, begging for the truth. My eyes met the skin protecting my collarbone. The pain was unbearable, but it was more than worth it. There it was, the fading bruise from from just a few days ago. A smile graced my face.

"Cato..." I wondered out loud, smile growing wider. I could have been the Cheshire Cat's twin brother at this rate. How could anyone kill themselves after a session like _that?_ But of course, no one knew about it, other than the two sinners...

And Keira! Keira, that loveable nut. She would believe me above anyone else. I wondered if she, and Yoko, for that matter, had visited me at any time. I look to my left, where deflating balloons hovered in mid-air, occasionally rubbing up against a plethora of flowers and get-well cards. I grabbed one, the most seemingly plain one, with a simple "Get Well, Soon" on the front. What was on the inside would vastly differ from its appearance.

_Peeta! You fucking asshole! _Only need a single guess to figure that one out. _What the hell did you do that for? We're supposed to grow old together! Hold an orgy of 69 people on my 69th birthday! I am going to find out who wrote this carefrontation letter if it's the last thing I do. -KK 33_

"Carefrontation letter"? Accurate, I suppose. I know Keira would never write something like that. How did she know about it? My parents must have, too, then. They knew what I read all through this morning, feigning ignorance. I guess they weren't comfortable with the situation.

The card had some writing left.

_Peeta... I can't begin to imagine what you've just been through. _Yoko was one of the sweetest girls I've ever met. _I wish you would have at least called me, or Keira, before doing... that... _She wasn't one to talk much, or talk about sensitive subjects. She was your average high school student. _I haven't seen you in two months! Besides right now, your unconscious self just chilling there, all creepily. Lol. _I smiled. _I missed you. I hope you're okay. Come back to us! :) Yoko-bono_

Thanks, Yoko. I loved our little nickname for her. We both had a strange love for The Beatles, Keira occasionally making fun of us for it. She was more Lady Gaga, modern-shit oriented. We didn't mind.

I'm glad they came, even if I didn't get see them. I laid my head back onto my pillow and closed my eyes. I wish I could talk to them right now – Keira, undoubtedly saying something outrageous, forcing me to laugh my guts out; Yoko holding my hand, and push the sides of her eye sockets inward, to make it look like she had round eyes, making me die even further. I was about to call in my parents to phone the two of them before my wooded door swung open again, causing my eyes to pop out of my skull. I hadn't expected to see the person who stood before me, holding a bundle of sunflowers, my favorite kind of flower.

"Cato." I rose up from my bed as far as I could to make it seem like I wasn't, in fact, sitting in a hospital bed, plastic sticking out of my skin, with half of my body covered in plaster. I must have been a sight for sore eyes.

"Hey, you," he smiled not only with his mouth, but with his eyes. One of those more-than-genuine facial movements. He made his way toward me, looking behind him to make sure no one saw what he was about to do, before placing his lips onto mine, letting them linger for a good moment. That was just what I needed. But, a certain thought wouldn't free itself from my mind. _He looked around before doing this. He doesn't want to be seen with me this way? Especially after seeing me in my current condition? Maybe even because of it..._

I pushed the depressing thought back, far back, when he ended the kiss, pulled away, and he spoke again. "How're you feeling?" He handed me the group of beautiful yellow blossoms, which closely resembled the color of my hair, which I'm guessing was the purpose behind buying them. He brushed away the messy hair covering my forehead before sitting down on my left, where my mom had sat earlier, before I answered.

"Thanks," I smiled before placing the sunflowers down on my lap and speaking further. "I'm doing okay..." I trailed off. I looked into his concerned eyes, wanting to wrap my legs around those muscular hips of his. _Well, that wasn't a necessary thought. _

"That's good! That's good..." The look on his face told me he didn't know what was appropriate to say and what wasn't. I wasn't sure either, to be honest.

But I didn't want to be a "pussy" about it.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, Cato fidgeting in his chair every once in a while, attempting to get comfortable, me just twiddling my thumbs. "It was an accident, you know," I said, breaking the tension. I looked at him and he looked at me. He was surprised I had just blurted that out like an idiot. He sighed out a breath of relief before hovering over me, kissing my forehead.

"I know that, you idiot," he said, sensitively, lips still hovering before my cranium, breath caressing my noggin. Shivers, shivers, shivers. "After what happened at camp, how could you?" He backed away into his chair again, that signature Cato smirk gracing his features.

"My thoughts exactly. I figured you'd understand," I said, confidently, also smirking. We sat in a comfortable silence, just inspecting each others' faces, again, before he opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again.

"What?" I chuckled.

"It's nothing."

"Spill it." I raised my left eyebrow at him, then my right, then made both hairy caterpillars do a complicated series of movements of ups and downs, forcing him to answer.

He chuckled, looked down into his lap like someone had died there, with a somber look about him. He looked back up to me and hesitantly spoke. "Did you catch what I said to you? Before you were dragged away by those assholes at the bonfire?"

I froze. Again. It felt like I had placed my palms into a bowl of warm water they were sweating so profusely. _Say something, you idiot!_ I did, of course, but I wouldn't let him know that just yet. I wanted to hear him actually verbalize it this time, and it actually mean something. I shook my head.

"I didn't quite catch it. It was too dark out," I lied. "What were you trying to say?" I gripped my sheets, preparing myself for what was to come. I felt my face unconsciously grin, but I forced it away to feign ignorance. Maybe after this he would actually ask me out! This is the moment I've been waiting for, practically for my whole life.

"I said..." he began, pausing for a few seconds. I know what you said, Cato. _Just say it again already._ "Colorful."

…

"_Colorful_"? That's not what flowed from those beautiful, lying pair of lips you've got earlier.

"I thought what you did was pretty amazing..." he said without conviction. I felt a sudden urge to cry. I was sitting atop a pedestal, at that time. Unfortunately it was placed near a construction zone, where Cato took his massive, black wrecking ball and I was crumbling down, falling down to the earth, battered and bruised by the fall. I couldn't get back up.

"Oh. Right, yeah," I stumbled. I didn't want to speak but I knew I had to keep up appearances. "They were cheering for me and everything. It was probably the greatest moment of my life," I said, robotically, set him ablaze with my eyes, trying to crush him like he had crushed me. It clearly wasn't, and he knew that.

"Of course," he replied. There was a heavy gathering of dust and water hovering above him now. _Don't blame me. I was ready this time. You spoiled this, not me. _He was about to speak again, but soon after he said that my door had swung open for the third time that day, making Cato fly out of his seat, to his feet, to face my two new visitors.

"Peeetttaaaa," my name had been drawn out. "We just spoke to your parents, you better be fucking-" Keira was cut off by the unexpected sight of Cato. They sized each other up. Keira thought to herself for a bit, before her eyes grew wide with understanding, a light-bulb finding its way above her no-good-noggin. She looked to me, and I violently shook my head, mouthing "Kick him out" before Cato's eyes met mine, only to receive a pseudo-warm smile.

"Is he awake, Keira? Why don't I hear you guys talki-" Yoko entered at that time. She was fiddling with her glasses before bumping bodies with Cato, obviously not expecting such a hunk of meat to be gracing our presences. She quickly threw her glasses back on, so that they were sort of sideways, and analyzed him. She nearly gasped.

"Keira, Yoko... This is Cato Morley," I began introductions. "He's gonna be a junior this year-"

"Yeah, I know who he his," Keira cut me off. "The only thing I need to know is why is he here?" She crossed her arms and began tapping her foot, impatiently waiting for a response. Cato scratched at the back of his neck, panicking, before walking over to me and making up a complete load of horse shit.

"Well, Peeta here, was asking me at the camp if, uh..." he stumbled. Good. He deserved this. _Feel Keira's wrath. Let's see if you live. _"If he could... join the football team!" he exclaimed, unconvincingly. "I wanted to make sure my bro was doing all right," he let out. He came to fist bump me, but my hand had been prepared for a high-five motion. He changed his hand to resemble mine and I did the same. Finally we had had enough and we just fist-palmed. The whole ordeal was as awkward as walking a 3-legged dog. I felt bile gather in my throat as he backed away, a hurt look on his face. _Don't blame me. Blame yourself. _My poker-face expression never faltered as I spoke.

"Thanks for the concern, _bro_," I threw his word back at him, hoping it would sting. The look on his face said it had. "Don't think I'll be joining now, of course," I went along with his lie. He laughed and dug his hands deep into his pockets, practically punching holes through the rough fabric.

"Yeah, of course..." he trailed off, acting like a neglected little puppy. He looked around before backing toward the door and grabbing the handle. "Well, it was nice meeting the two of you," he lied, I'm guessing. Keira nodded, Yoko waved. "See you around." He turned to meet my eyes. I held his gaze for a second before forcing myself away. I couldn't allow myself to get lost in those eyes. He had flattened me today and there was no way I was going to give in. "Get well soon, Peeta," he barely audibly whispered before opening the door and leaving.

I took my hand in my head before quietly sobbing. Keira was by my side in a millisecond, pulling my skull to her chest. She was so much smarter than I was, only having three seconds to decipher our conversation and find the truth, hidden behind hundreds of masterfully crafted steel doors of deceit.

"Uh," Yoko let out. "Am I missing something here?" Wait, Yoko didn't know? I expected her to. After all, Keira was "shit at keeping secrets." I looked to Keira.

"You told me not to tell anyone," she reminded me. _Well, yeah. But I expected you to_, I thought to myself.

"Thanks," I replied, forgetting about Yoko in the corner of my room.

"Wait. What does Keira know that I don't?" she spoke, fast. Whenever Yoko became riddled with any sort of emotion her mouthed moved with the speed and grace of a cheetah. A silence came over us like a cloudy fog, rendering my sight, or in this case my judgment, broken.

"I slept with Cato Morley," I let out bluntly. This time a clown telegram felt like a good idea. I saw Yoko's eyes fill with hurt before she spoke again.

"I know you guys have known each other for years before I met you two, but I thought that wasn't a big deal. Now you're keeping secrets from me? I thought we were fucking friends!" Yoko screamed, and cursed, for that matter. Yoko only spoke profanities when something was terribly wrong.

"Bono," I let out. She spoke before I could keep going.

"No, don't talk to me," she said as she turned around and flew out the door. I placed my head back onto Keira's chest, sobbing powerfully now, as she soothingly pet the top of my head.

"Don't worry, Peeta," she said. "We'll figure this out. We always do."

I don't how it was possible but my tears only came more forcefully. In a matter of days, hours for me being unconscious and all, my life had gone from the brightest of sunny days to a grim hurricane of an existence.

This year wouldn't be like anything I had expected.

**A/N: **So, tell me honestly.. Was it a piece of crap? I couldn't for the life of me pull out as much fig. Language as you love, Fadi :( Sorry about that. I'll do better in the future, promise :)

Review and such! Or leave a PM. I'm always open to talkin' to you peeps :D

Love 'n' Peace,

Scheiguy


	3. Chapter Three

_**A/N:**_ Whasssupp errybody? I noticed I received so many more views last chapter than I did my first – about 220 on the first day of my posting Ch 1 to about 320 on the first of my posting Ch 2. I find that so awesome! It's on the riiiisseee. Thank you all for enjoying this, my first fanfc, so far and sticking with its "comically serious" approach. Awesome-sauce Marvel and dopey-dumb Glimmer make their appearances! AHHHH! Please leave a review if you don't mind, I really like to hear many different thoughts on this story.

_**Shoot-oooots:::**_

_**FA2015:**_ Gah! So close to first review. Beaten by the great fadi08654745345670545..76345764578.868568 (Sorry finger spasm). Thank you for trying lol. That is a good assumption, though I won't be revealing who it is for quite awhile I think. Ikr without a Keira how does one live? Ohhhh check you out, all analytical and what-not on these relationships. SHH stop being so smart. Yeah you definitely should! It's on tonight (for me, I'm replying to your reviews a few days before I post the actual chapter) and I can NNOTT wait. Highlight of my Thursdays lol.

_**Anonanon:**_ WHAT! WHO ARE YOU! YOU stole my guest name! What is going on here! Thank you for the smiley, nonetheless.

_**LA3000:**_ This is true about Yoko. When it comes to the three of them, she's always felt a bit insecure, she felt like the third wheel, so to speak. And that was the last straw. Also, it wouldn't be a drama if there were no over-exaggerations :p LOL Maybe I should make a Keira-brother! That's a great idea... Hm... Juices are flowin'... Yes he is greatly annoyed. He's never been suicidal before in his life, he's loved his life, but with his somewhat anti-social behaviors his parents aren't so sure. Keira is in fact an OC – I love people who write about Foxface, but I wanted someone a little more fucked up in the head, lol. Foxface is elusive, and Keira is anything but. OH, and here it is, just for you (and cray-cray: MARVEL MAKES HIS APPEARANCE! AAHHHHH!

_**GuestRR:**_ Tyty! I totes agree. I've had one of those before... sucks ass!

_**Cray-crayperson:**_ Well ty that's very... something of you. Sorry about no Marvel! He's in this chapter, promise. So I hope you like it :) yeah Cato's a slight bitch. He's an overly popular jock, what's it gonna look like to the world if he's dating Peeta? Especially after the incident. I didn't spell your name wrong! I left off the person part on purpose 'cause cray-cray alone just makes me lol. Ah neat! My Keira typically is shit at that, but like with small shit. Not big shit, as we've learned last chapter.

_**Raven Knightly:**_ What are the odds! :p

_**LoF15:**_ That is not true at all man... I appreciate it though :) I wish I were as original as some of the other authors here.

_**Pikachu1132:**_ Ty I figured it was time for a change.

_**LowFatSardine:**_ Wooo sweet icon, loved FF XIII and XIII-2. Anyway – SSHH! SH! Things aren't gonna be eeexaccttllyy the same as the show, throughout my whole story thing, but will heavily be based on it of course. But yeah, you guessed it... NOW SH. You watch it, I take it?

_**Fadi, fadi, fadi:**_ What am I gonna do with you. I really don't know. Your reviews are often-times the highlight of my day.

Yeah I have to say that was my favorite scene, also. It was so hard to write, though. I knew what I wanted to say but it was just a complete bitch to get the right words out, for a good flow. The final product was still a bit clunky but I'm glad you appreciated it :)

Damn your constructive criticism. I hate and love you for it. Well, it's not necessarily past-tense. I've got sentences like "My dad, who I just now notice, sees me struggling. He looks like complete shit:" etc etc. If I wanted past tense I would've said "My dad, who I notic**ed** **saw** me struggling whatever look**ed** like etc" right? And his voice IS harsh, because it begins that way, and stays that way for a few moments until he mentally states "my voice is now steady" or w/e. Does that make sense? Probably not haha. My English prof did tell me about that once and how I changed tenses a few times, guess I still need to work on that.

Oh those two sentences. They were just mishaps I overlooked. I corrected them and replaced the chapter, like you taught me to :). At least I think I fixed those parts...

Yeah just checked. Still a mini typo in there that I'll fix later lol. Sorry about the confusion.

LOL I loved writing the fist-palm scene. I've had that happen to me IRL with an "ex" and it pretty much went exactly that way. It was terrible but we laughed it off. It only furthered Peeta and Cato's distance, though.

Lol... Well, what is up with Cato? We don't know how the conversation would have gone if Keira and Yoko didn't show up. Maybe he would have retracted his past statement and told the truth? Or not? Who knows. But now we'll never get the chance to find out!

Right you are! The letter destroys Peeta at first, but then he finds it just a bit empowering, actually crossing off some of the things the writer suggested. Of course it still scars Peeta, deep. But it only makes him grow. I'm very impressed you noticed this!

Ah the dreams. I love them, they're so fun to write, even if they're not too long. Tying in the real sort of HG with my AU, I found it a blast. Having Peeta die (or did he? :O) last chapter in his dream I don't know how I'm gonna keep those going. But I might, if I feel like they should resurface. Not an every-chapter thing, though. Ty! Peeta's blogs will probably be replacing these dreams. (Actually I've decided to put one more in for this chapter! The last!)

Haha colorful! You are too good for this world. You like my review of your review? And review of your chapter? I think I'm getting better ehhh? :D Not as good as you or YA77 yet, of course. Thanks for the reviews as always, bud. They truly put a smile on my face.

**DON'T OWN ANYTHING, BESIDES ANYTHING THAT IS BAD. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Three:****_"Are you being bullied? Pickle not as big as the other boys, hm?"_**

_I strain my eyes open. Everything I see is nothing but a mass of dots, beautiful blues and grays, circling about each other for what seems to be no purpose at all. Slowly but surely my sight finds a focus, which happens to be the face of the man I love. He's looking down at me, face hovering above mine, giving me a slight glimpse of his pearly-whites when he notices my waking._

"_Cato... How am I-"_

"_Sh..." He places an index finger to my chapped, crimson-stained lips. I can feel the dry blood remaining from my earlier episode with Thresh. "You need to save your strength."_

_I ignore his advice. "Where is he? Where's Thresh? Did he hurt you?" I wonder out loud. It takes more effort to say than I care to say. I must be in a pretty bad predicament. I force my head up, and look around to see we're both perched atop the Cornucopia – the place where it all began, and where it will all end. _

"_Don't worry, baby," Cato soothes me. "Big bad man is gone now, for good." A wave of relief washes over me, like a much-needed spout of falling rain, rejuvenating my body, rejuvenating the barren land of what was once a utopia. I set my head back down onto Cato's lap, and close my eyes, smiling._

"_I'm just so glad you made it," I whisper. I open my eyes to stare at him, my angel, my hands looking for the soft skin that covers his bony cheeks. As they reach their destination, he flinches and backs away._

"_What's wrong? Can't I feel what is heaven on this earth... before actually entering it above?" I chuckle. Cato doesn't find it amusing. Instead he's on his toes in a second, sending the back of my head crashing down to meet the cold, hard metal below. I almost enter unconsciousness from the added pain, but I manage to hold onto my senses._

"_You know, _Loverboy,_" Cato begins, drawing out my recently-given nickname. I felt special when Cato teased me with it, but now... There's a familiar tone present in his voice... A tone I haven't heard since our first encounter in the training center, when he was nothing more than a dick in tight clothing to me. "I thought I could hold up this charade until your demise, but this sappy shit? I can't take it anymore. I wanted to be a nice guy. It was obvious you had a crush on me from the get-go. Oh, how I pitied you." It's belittling... and cold... Have I actually passed out? Am I in hell? _

"_With that being said, I think you deserve to hear the truth before I kill you," he says as he paces back and forth before me, hands held behind his back. _Before you kill me...? _I feel the tears begin to gather in my eyes. I figured if I'd cry about anything during these Hunger Games, it'd be about Keira, Yoko or Cato. _

_And it was about Cato. But what I didn't figure was I'd be crying over the fact he himself, with his bare hands, was about to end my life. Not because I asked him to, not because he needed to. But because... he wanted to. _

"_You see, my interview hadn't gone as well as I thought it had. Brutus – you know Brutus, right? My mentor? The guy with the shaved head who always goes on about-" he stops in his tracks, looks to me, forgetting who exactly it is he's talking to. "Never mind," he says as he begins to pace once again. _

"_Because of a crummy interview, I had to find another way to get sponsors – a surefire way so that I could win." He comes back to my shaking, almost lifeless form before kneeling down, cupping my face in his hands. "You know what that way was, Loverboy?" _

_No... I can't accept it. I won't. This was just a game he was playing, right? He said he loved me, after that wonderful night in the cave... We bore our souls to each other. Have I really been that naïve? _

_I nod my head in understanding before he drops it back onto the metal and continues. "Wow, Peeta. You're almost smarter than I thought. 'Too little too late,' as they say, though," he chuckles. "All those kisses we shared, all those false 'I love you's' I threw your way – man, were you a sucker for those. And that night, in the cave, when we had sex?" He let the thought linger. "Eh. You were a decent fuck." He leaned in close to meet my tear-stricken face. "But other than the meat the sponsors sent, it meant _**nothing** _to me," he said with a sadistic smile. I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces, falling in miniscule, unimportant shards to the earth. Cato took a broom and carelessly brushed them away, never to be seen again._

_With that, his strong, murderous hands found and wrapped themselves around my neck, like a snake about to constrict its prey into a broken shell of a being. "Goodbye, Peeta."_

"_Cato, I love y-"_

**Beep, beep, beep, bee – SMACK.** My fist unconsciously went to high-five that noisy box of doom, the doom that inevitably would be my second first day of high school. I stretched all my limbs that were capable of stretching before rubbing my eyes open. The clock read 6:46. One hour and 14 minutes before school starts. I heard a knock on my door.

"Peeta! Wake up, it's time for your first day of school!" my mom exclaimed through the wooden barrier, sounding way more excited than I was.

"I'm up, I'm up," I mumbled.

I scrunched my face and groaned before tossing my blankets aside and throwing my feet over the left side of my bed, heels making contact with the furry carpet below. I made my way to the bathroom, instantly flinching as I switched on the lights. After waiting for the sudden sensory overload to subside, I took a look in the mirror. The person I saw before me hardly resembled the boy who was in this spot exactly a year ago. The boy from a year's past had no broken or sprained appendages. The boy from a year ago had a much brighter shine in his eyes. He had a quiet but immensely strong confidence about him. The boy I saw standing before me held no parallels with the one from 365 days ago – other than the name Peeta Mellark.

I grunted at the thought, shooing it away, before attempting to brush my teeth. It was surprisingly difficult with one hand, smearing toothpaste everywhere. _At least we both have those shinier-than-thou chompers. _Once the paste from my mouth had found its way down the drain, I re-entered my bedroom and sat on the chair before my computer desk.

I opened my MacBook Pro and began my search for a decent blogging site. My parents had me see a therapist earlier that week, and though I despised the idea, one sentence he had said clung to my brain like a monkey to a tree branch._"It's important to let your feelings find their way to life, Peeta – punch a pillow, dance a dance, write a story – doing at least one of these things will undoubtedly improve your mental well-being."_ I chose to write. I loved my pillows and though I could move my hips like Shakira I didn't want anyone catching sight of that.

Let's hope you're right, _doc_.

I typed "good blogging site" into my Google search-bar. I clicked on a Yahoo! Answers link, finding someone who answered with "blogger dot com, I use it and it's hassle-free." If I didn't know any better I'd say she was getting paid for her kind words.

Click on URL bar. Type blogger dot com, enter. _Well, that's weird. They already know my e-mail address. _Type in password, enter. Name of blog... Type in "Invisible Boy Daily," enter. Click on ethereal template. Title of first entry...?

**An Entry a Day Keeps the Doctor Away**

_Today marks the beginning of my sophomore year of high school – the first day of school. Well, not for everyone. Just me, of course. Technically it's the tenth – a Wednesday, halfway through the second week, students already becoming complacent with their deteriorating wooden prisons, also known as desks, which hold the elegant words "Kevin's a fag" and "Julie's a slut," discreetly, in the corner._

_For the past two days of my life I've been trapped in my room by my parents, who argued over whether or not I should return to school. I, Peeta, had a rather unfortunate mishap the other day, of the suicide variety. I know what you're thinking: poor little lonesome child, sick of his meaningless existence. Well, it's not true. It was an accident. You better believe if I'd attempt it, I'd succeed._

_My father finally gave in and decided to let me attend public school again. To be honest, I wasn't sure who was right and who was wrong. I could handle being agenda-less for a few more days, though. But I was aching to see my friends – er, friend. Yoko was still furious with me, not replying to any of my apologetic voicemails and texts. I left her one of each what felt like every hour since her blow-up at the hospital the other day. At least I still had Keira._

_Enough of that. I would enjoy this day. Maybe my therapist was right – no, I don't need one, if that's what your thinking. Writing does improve my mental well-being: some thoughts needed an outlet, and not always of the fleshy, audible-seeking kind. I've decided I'm going to make this day my bitch, neck brace and all._

Save, publish, sign out, close laptop.

Feeling a little relieved now I glance back at my clock. 7:10. That left 40 minutes to shower, dress myself, eat and leave. I rarely ate breakfast so I decided I'd grab an apple somewhere along the way.

I hopped out of the shower 20 minutes later, towel clinging to my waist. I rummaged through my pigsty of a closet, looking for... I don't know, just something to wear. Keira usually helps me with this stuff. I decided upon a silky gray, long-sleeved button up shirt that would conceal most of the cast that held my right arm, wrist and hand; and a pair of rather form-fitting blue jeans, that had a rustic look to them where my thighs were. It took me awhile to get dressed. It was 7:43 by the time I had gotten my hair to look the way I wanted it to. Bed-head chic. It was kinda ridiculous, really – my hair now didn't differ much from the way it had when I just woke up. I thew my backpack over my left shoulder, after checking I had everything I needed, and stormed downstairs.

"Oh, honey! You are just so handsome right now, you know that?" my mom squealed as I ran into the kitchen, grabbing a green apple from the fruit basket. My favorite kind.

"Wow, I don't think you've ever complimented me on my way of dress before," I said as I took a bite of my apple and began to chew. "I'm completely humbled and honored," I bow.

"Well, that's probably because the show-stealing cast on your arm is distracting me from your messy hair..." she says. She's probably joking but I frown anyway.

I scan the kitchen table, noticing something important to my existence missing. "Where's dad?"

"He left for work, early. Something at the bakery came up." _Damn._ The one time I went looking for his fatherly advice I wouldn't get it. "Now come on, let's get you to school! I bet everyone in their right mind is gonna be eating you up for breakfast. If you weren't my son I would-"

"Holy shit, I'll see you in the car."

The ride over was nice and pretty void of conversation. We were listening to the radio mostly – if there was one thing in this world my mom and I could agree on it would be what was good music and what wasn't. We'd listed our favorite bands back and forth one day a few months back. She and I agreed upon The Beatles, Lynyrd Skynyrd, U2, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Def Leppard, Fleetwood Mac, just to name a few. She named The Monkees before I asked, "The who?" to which she replied "Them, too." And I couldn't agree more.

I was looking out my window for something interesting to catch my eye for 10 minutes before I saw Yoko walking on the sidewalk. Thankfully mom didn't notice and kept on driving – otherwise she would have asked if we should give her a ride, to which I'd decline, which would open a whole keg of slimy, crawly worms. My eyes were burning holes into her skull, which she must have felt, as she turned around and stopped walking. I gave her a faint smile and waved with my good hand before she contorted her face and flipped me off. I frowned. _Damn, what do I have to do to get on her good side again?_ My mom must have noticed my movements.

"Who are you waving at, Peeta?"

"No one, mom."

"Oh, I bet it's a really cute boy! Like Cato Morley, perhaps? You know him, right?"

_Fuck. Better than you think._

"Not really. Sorta," I lie. Well, it wasn't a total lie – I don't know a whole lot about him, come to think of it, other than his favorite sport and the size of his penis.

"I think he swings both ways. He seems like that open-minded type of guy," she reassures me. No teenaged being would want to be Peeta Mellark at this very point in life.

"I can only imagine," I say, still looking out the car window, trying to drop the subject. Fortunately she catches the venom on my words and shuts up. I let out a sigh, glad that conversation was finally over. We pulled into the school parking lot a minute later.

"Have a good day, honey!" I throw myself out of the car as quickly as possible. "Don't fuck it up!" I hear from behind me. I turn around to meet my mom, stupid smile on her face, giving me two thumbs-up. I roll my eyes, turn back around and enter through the two massive front doors.

No one said doom would feel like this.

Every single person in that hallway had their eyes trained on me – students, teachers, the occasional creepy janitor who you can't help but wonder if they go through your shit. Apparently staring me down was the cool thing to do. I heard whispers behind my back, in front of my face, off to the side. "I heard his parents were getting a divorce." "No way, he just has no friends. Poor guy." "Damn, he looks fine, even with the casts. Wouldn't mind a piece of that."

All right, this was getting to be a bit much. I canceled my advance to the main office, and stood firmly in the middle of the walkway. "Can everybody just shut the hell up?" I yelled, furious. These people had no idea what had happened, what gave them the right to pity me? Or remove my clothing with their eyes? "Get a life!" Scanning my surroundings afterward I found my sudden outburst had an effect on these sheep – most were looking down, to the floor, ashamed. _You should be._ Besides one person, who merely laughed at the sight of me as she slowly approached with her lapdog, Glimmer, trailing not too far behind.

"Well, if it isn't the boy who cried suicide. If I were as desperate-looking as you, I'd do the same thing," Clove said, snidely, her innocent-looking smile vastly contrasting with her condescending tone and verbiage.

"Don't you have some innocent puppies to eat, Clove?"

"No, not today – today, you're my breakfast."

"I'm so flattered."

"You should be." Her hand reached for my left wrist, which held a death-grip on my backpack, restraining itself from strangling the life out of that little bitch. She began to inspect it."How's your wrist this morning? I hope the cuts weren't too deep."

"That is so depressing," Glimmer decided to chime in. I had forgotten she was there, vacant stare roaming my body, like she didn't know what to think of me. She brushed her hair back.

I yanked my wrist back from Clove's cold, deadly hands. "What do you want, Clove?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing..." she trailed off. That was almost a big a load as bullshit as Cato's excuse for his visit to the hospital. She smirked, temporarily becoming the spawn of Satan before speaking again. "When there's a bastard child in need, I can't help it if my caring, charity-case helping side rears its head." Glimmer let out a shallow laugh. "Haha, bastard child." My face began to contort with rage, and hurt, when I heard a familiar voice from in front of me. I hadn't noticed he was there until now.

"Hey Clove! Can I talk to you for a sec?" Cato barked out, coming to join our circle of happy children and good times. He looked at me and smiled. "Hey, Peeta."

The sight of him brought back the images of my dream. It was strangely relevant to my waking life, thinking back on it. I didn't smile back, but let out an irritated "Hey, Cato."

Clove wasn't too happy at our knowing each other. "_Wait_, you know this shrimp, Cato?"

"Yeah, we had some good times at camp." He winked at me, which only I caught. I couldn't help but smile then.

"You must have been drugged to have fun with _this_ loser," she grunted, before turning around and storming off. "Loser!" Glimmer let out before joining her. Cato came closer to me.

"Thanks for rescuing me," I whispered.

"Anytime, any place," he grinned. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Clove's gonna have to get some new material before I kneel and kiss her feet," I joked.

Cato chuckled and left to join Clove, glancing back at me before joining their conversation, which I'm sure could only be about how much of a freak I am. Though he had lied about his impulsive confession the other day, Cato held this power over me. These reigns of emotion, and when I would stray too far from him and happiness, he would gently tug me back, back to his side. _Why does this have to be so damn confusing..._

I continued my march to the main office. I had gotten used to the constant stares and attention when I reached the double doors and threw them open. I came up to the front desk, where... no one was seated. I stood there, for maybe five seconds, before ringing the bell next to me. Five more seconds, still no one. **Ring. Ring... Ringringringringringring-**

"Can you stop that?" A man with wide, think glasses and gelled back jet-black hair erupted from below his chair, nearly giving me a heart attack. I regained my composure. What the hell was he doing down there?

"Well if you don't want the bell rung maybe you should actually sit in your seat, not next to it," I stated. "Or just get rid of it."

"I'll keep that under consideration. Now what do you want?" he replied as he pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his rather large nose.

"I just need my schedule," I let out. "I missed the first couple of days-"

"Ah, yes," he cut me off. "Mr... Mellark." He inspected me for a good time, with what only could be pity covering his face, looking me over, shaking his head. I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot, impatiently. "Wait here please." He briskly left to enter a smaller room, looking for what would hold my fate for the next year.

I leaned on the counter, waiting for what felt like a few years, before hearing someone yelling to the right of me. I glanced toward him, his back facing me. "What room was that?" he boomed, flailing the papers in his hands around. _Why is he walking backwards? _He was only a few inches taller than me, the back of his body _surprisingly_ sexy: short, mud-colored curls raping his skull; varsity blue- and gold-striped varsity football jacket, loosely wrapping itself around his broad, yet lean shoulders; pants resembling mine, in color and in fitting. _Wonder what his face looks like. _

I shake my head, ridding my mind of those thoughts. I was already tripping over Cato's existence, I couldn't add another source of torture to my already full, masochistic schedule. I lay my forehead on the counter-top, waiting for the schedule that would never come. "Yeah, I'll get to it," the boy boomed again, his voice nearing in proximity. _I bet he's still walking backwards like a dope. _"Is that Mrs. Honch's room or Mr. Bur-"

BUMP. We both fall to the ground, paper flying everywhere. _Why does this always happen to me?_ This time, the body on top of mine easily broke the 100 lb mark, so I wanted to waste no time and end the much heated contact, but the guy now above me was pulling himself up before I could become irritated enough to do so.

"Oh my god, I am so, so so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going and-" He stopped his rambling when our eyes met. Beautiful, tiny earthen globes of green and brown devoured my form, leaving me breathless. "Whoa," he let out. He smiles, innocently. _Whoa? What whoa? What's there to whoa about? __Not me, certainly... Right? If anything I should be the one whoa-ing._

"Ouch," I mumble, trying to change the subject of... whatever that was, rubbing my head.

"Here, let me help you up..." I grabbed a hold of his hand and shot up. I looked into his face once more before dusting myself off. He looks familiar...

"I hope this doesn't happen often," I joke. "For your sake as well as others."

"Yeah, no, it doesn't, fortunately," he replied, laughing. "I'd probably get expelled. I was just being stupid. I'm so sorry, are you all right?" He looked me over, catching sight of my many broken and sprained limbs, fearing the worst.

"Don't worry about it," I brushed it off. "What exactly were you doing that requires walking backwards?"

"Well, it's not required, but it is fun. I'm running errands for the office before school starts..." he trails off, picking up the paper on the floor. He gets up and cocks his head to the side. "Wait, you're Peeta, aren't you?"

I laugh. "How could you tell?"

"Oh, sorry, I was just..." he stumbles, trying not to offend me. "I'm Marvel."

_Marvel...?_

_Marvel! Cato's friend from so many years ago! I knew I recognized him from somewhere. Well, fuck. Now I'm only more closely associated with him. _

"Peeta," I say simply, not letting him know.

"Peeta..." he says to himself. "That's a ni- that's a cool name." He chuckles, smiling.

"Better than Marvel," I joke.

"Any name is better than Marvel. I would have preferred Hubert, to be honest."

I laugh, genuinely. I rarely ever do so. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Yeah, maybe not..." We lock eyes for a few seconds before realizing what we're doing, and what we should be doing. Thankfully (or not) the man who hates bells returns and claims my attention. _Does it really take that long to find a schedule?_

"Here is your schedule, sir. You better get going before you're marked late," he advises, as he again pushes back his glasses.

"Thanks." I turn to say goodbye to Marvel before I'm interrupted.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mellark!" I roll my eyes and turn around. _What now? _"Because of your recent..." he looks me over again. I squint at him. "...Episode, you'll be meeting with the school guidance counselor once a week, for safety reasons Right now, actually."

"What?" I scream. "I _really_ don't need to."

"Ouch, that's harsh," Marvel chimes in. _Crap, I forgot he was there. Now he thinks I'm a loony. _"Can't you give the guy a break? Look at him," he gestures to me, smiling. "He looks fine to me." I blush, _damn it_. _It's no wonder why they're friends. There's no way I'm getting pulled in by this guy, I won't allow it._

"Rules are rules, Mr. Gunadi. The world would be running amok without them." Weird bald guy points his finger at the both of us, like we don't know this.

"Sorry, Peeta. I tried," he chuckles. "This guy's relentless."

"It's okay. I'll manage... Thanks." I smile.

"You're very welcome," he smiles back. "Catch you around?"

"Sure, why not?" _I'd love that._

"Cool! See ya!" He runs off in a hurry, clutching his papers close to his side. I watch as his body disappears from sight. I sigh.

"A-hem." _Dude, go the fuck away... _"You should be heading to the counselor's office right about now."

"Whatever."

I come onto the guidance counselor's office. "Beatrix Adams," the door reads. It's opened a good amount. I pop my head in to sneak a peek at what I imagine to be this wise, all-knowing and all-powerful being that hears many a thing and advises people on how they should live. Instead, what I see is a young woman with curly blonde hair that stops at her shoulders, probably around the age of my parents, fiddling with two objects on her desk. _What are they..._ I squint my eyes. _Dinosaurs? _

"Rawr, RAWR!" she screams for the T-Rex. "How you like me now, biatch?"

"Please, sir, do not eat me," she says, imitating a young British boy's voice, full of fright. "I do not taste well."

"I'll be the judge of th-" she begins, only to slowly look up and catch sight of me. I turn my head to the side, looking confused. She coughs and hurriedly throws her friends into her desk. She motions at the chairs. "Please, have a seat."

_Seriously?_

I impishly let my bag drop to the floor, and take a seat. Uncomfortable.

"Okay, Scott. I know rashes aren't too pleasant, but with just the right cream, you'll be right as rain." She smiles, not knowing I'm definitely not Scott.

"My name's Peeta," I inform her.

"Oh." She pauses. "Well, either way, if you have a rash-

"I don't have a rash."

"That's good, because... rashes... are bad..." she mumbles. "Why are you here again?" she scrunches her face at me.

"Aren't you supposed to tell me that?" A confused look comes across her, as she puts on a pair of glasses (that she obviously doesn't need) and looks down at a piece of paper on her desk.

"Right, right..." She pauses before looking up at me. "Peeta Mellark?" I raise my index finger in the air as an answer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Yes?" _Is this chick serious?_

"Of course."

"I can just go if-"

"Peeta," she begins as she takes her off her glasses, all-too-smoothly. _Damn it._ "I've been told you've been experiencing some bouts with depression lately. Now why is that?"

"I didn't try to kill myself."

"Of course you didn't." I mentally slap her. She plays with her papers a bit more, my "file" I'm guessing, before speaking again. "You know, as your guidance counselor I'd like to say – I'm your friend! We're pals, buddies!" She gestures back and forth, me to her, with her hands. "You can tell me anything."

"All right..." I trail off. Her head inches closer, over her desk, eyes spilling over with curiosity. She's inches from my face now. "I didn't try to kill myself," I whisper.

"Ugh!" She throws her hands in the air. "This is going nowhere."

"You said it, not me. Can I go now?"

"No. I need to make sure you're okay. Are you being bullied?" She leans in closer and whispers. "Pickle not as big as the other boys, hm?"

"That was just unnecessary."

"Let's see..." She browses through a vanilla envelope, which reads "MELLARK, PEETA" on the top. She pulls out an all-too-familiar piece of paper. "Recognize this?"

"How did you get that...?" That damned letter is following me everywhere.

"I've got friends in high places..." She pauses. "Your parents gave it to me." _Figures. _"They're very concerned about you." She frowns with sincerity.

"There's nothing to worry about. I've told them this, and I'll tell you too, Ms. Adams-"

"B. Call me B," she beamed.

I blink at her. "Ms. Adams, I did not-"

"You know I was teased in high school? 'Bullied,' if you will." _Shocker. _"Classmates used to call me B.A, 'cause of my initials. For a while I thought it stood for 'badass,' and I was so thrilled I made my own shirts with the huge letters 'B.A. IS HERE' on the front. After two months of me grinning to myself like an idiot, I finally learned why they were calling me that. B.A. didn't stand for 'badass,' Peeta. It stood for 'bumpy ass.'" I shook my head in confusion. "I had a lot of acne... on my rear end?"

"God, that's appealing."

"Anyway, I didn't let that phase me. Sure, I cried myself to sleep for 6 months-"

"And you're saying that didn't phase you?"

She sighed. "The point is: I kept going. I didn't let them get to me after that. And you shouldn't either." Maybe the whack-job had a point. I shouldn't let whoever wrote the carefrontation letter win. I should keep my head up. "Make sense?"

"Yes, Ms. Adams."

"Good. Now get to class, I've got a colon-flushing in 20 minutes." With that I was up and out of that room, mentally preparing myself for our next visit. "Have a good day, Peter!" I heard from behind me.

I rolled my eyes. "It's Peeta!"


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: **Well, then. Howdy do young gents and ladies? I'm slowly coming back into this community, with fervor, and I didn't want to leave this story hanging, along with you guys who follow it and love it oh so much. Though, no doubt I've lost a couple of you along the way, and I'm sorry about that. I hope my sporadic updates help ease the pain a bit heh. This chapter turned out a little sexier than I originally intended, but I'm sure not many of you will mind, right?

**Hope you guys like.**

* * *

**Chapter Four:** _When Sex is Involved, Where Does Reason Go?_

Trying to live the life you once led with one arm that was permanently fixed at a right angle was no laughing matter. Most of the time. Other times it was inherently hilarious. Especially during my math class – which Cato was a part of, of course. Our Algebra II teacher, Mr. McGuff, suffered from a mild case of short-term memory loss. With my arm being the way it is, he would call on me constantly, thinking I had the answer to every problem he would write on the board.

"No, I'm not raising my hand, Mr. McGuff," I'd reply, patiently, to which he would blink his eyes a few times in confusion, behind those ridiculously wide-glassed lenses, before nodding in slow realization and continuing on with the lesson. This never got old. Well, maybe one day it did when Clove decided it was in everyone's best interest to be extremely nasty to me in the morning, but after hearing Cato's poorly-stifled chuckles directly behind me after our weekly "McGuff Mishap" there was really no way to hate any single day.

It's been seven weeks since the first day of school. The days flew by like a chicken trying to escape its penned-in confines – which is a fancy way of saying "not fast at all." Yoko still hated my guts, Cato only acknowledged my existence every so often, and once a week every week I'd have to remind Ms. Adams "What am I doing here? You need more guidance than I will ever in my entire life." On my last day of hospital_ relaxation_ I was told it'd take six weeks for my arm to completely heal – hairline fracture of some sort, and considering my age, weight and overall healthiness, it wouldn't be long now.

Actually, it would be today – a Thursday.

The phone rang, 4:36 PM. Apparently, according to my mother's excited shrills, the x-rays came in: I was in the clear to get this suffocating eyesore off my body and into the trash where it belongs. Well, I might save the part where Cato had so discreetly written "Can't wait til that cast is off ;)" somewhere near my elbow when I wasn't looking. Until then, our happy little family hopped into Dad's SUV, strapped ourselves in, and headed for the road.

"So, honey, are you excited about getting your cast removed?" my mom asked, a little too cheerfully.

"Well, if you call being constantly irritated by random strangers waving at you while walking to school at seven in the morning, then yes: I am excited." I rolled my eyes – of course I would be excited. Who wouldn't be? I mean, with Cato practically caressing the back of my head in math class accompanied by the lack of release for nearly two months? Then yes. I am "excited."

"You've been missed at the bakery, bud," my dad informed me. And, oddly enough, "I missed being there," I let him know, truthfully.

"Well, as soon as that thing's off it's back to work for the both of us!" _What_. I turn my gaze to the rearview mirror, hoping to catch a hold of my dad's grey eyes. He looks at me for a second, probably by accident, 'cause, you know, review mirrors aren't typically used to accost your father. He smiles at the eye contact for a second and looks back to the road.

"Wait. So, you're saying, as soon as I get back from getting this damned thing off I have to go straight to the bakery?" I asked, pleadingly. That wasn't the first idea I had in mind, not in the least. _Not in the least._

"Peeta, you know we've been short-staffed. I know you've heard Mom and I talk about." I see my mom nod enthusiastically in her seat, like being included in our conversation could be the highlight of her day. "Marianne quit last week, and the week before that we had to let Stefan go. Did you know that he was a-"

"Gay porn star?" Well, it was kind of hard to miss when you're a hormonal, homosexual teenage boy. "Yes," I finish, not further explaining how I know that. That would be one conversation I would never knowingly run into with my parents – least of all my dad.

"Yeah, can you believe that? I didn't want to let him go, but what if he was to cut his hand on the bread slicer?" he asks. He makes a left, and we're here. Engine: off. "What if he had…you know…"

"AIDs?" my mother asks, tactfully. "We'd get sued up the bajingo." Before my mom can explain to me what exactly a bajingo is, I hurriedly unfasten my seatbelt, open the car door and rush the shit out of there.

* * *

_Ding_! Already? I rush past my father and into the kitchen, where my third batch of baguettes, that hour, are now oven-crispy, golden, and smell oh so good. Put on oven mitt; pull the oven hatch down; grab tray – _Sstt_ – get burned; set bread on counter-top. I package the batch up, in neat white paper bags, rub at my sweaty forehead with my flour-coated apron, and set them back on the counter in the corner of the room.

"Hey Dad, is that it?" I call out from the kitchen, breathless, hoping to whatever God is present at this time for him to reply with a simple "yeah."

"Yeah, Pee-" Well, that's all I need to hear. I take off my apron with more difficulty than expected, it getting caught around my neck, flustered, before I finally manage to wiggle out of it and hang it on the hook nearby. Breathing a sigh of relief I rush back up upstairs, on my way to my incredibly-missed room.

Our home is abnormally huge when compared to our neighbors'. Most of them live in a humble one-story building, just the bare necessities of a home. The way I see it, we've got a two-story place, with the bakery adding another floor, right below our "first floor." The, technically, second floor of our house would look equivalent to the first of any other home: living room, kitchen, dining room, some bathrooms here and there. The third floor holds our bedrooms: three of them to be exact, though the third is merely a guest room. I'm guessing Dad uses that whenever Mom and he get into fights, or just simply when she crosses the, exponentially retreating, annoyance threshold, which can't be too few and far between.

It's not like we're well off or anything. Well, kind of sort of, anyway. Awhile back my mom underwent some boob job surgery. She had an infection afterwards, and was rewarded a few hundred grand. We don't rely entirely on it, though – only when _someone_ falls and nearly kills themself, or when someone _else_ decides their skin is a little saggier than it should be. Other than that the bakery allows us to live pretty comfortably.

Reach stairs; begin ascension; reach 5th step – _trip, fall, bump on the head_ – get back up, palm on skull; reach door; open, step through, close.

It only takes, what, three steps before my mom spots me. "Hey, Peeta!" I avoid eye contact, on a mission to reach the promised land. "What do you- Are you okay, sweety?" She must have noticed my wincing and the placement of my hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that's great. So, what do you think of this-"

"Looks perfect on you," I interrupt her, still avoiding eye contact, and already knowing the ending of her sentence will either end in: A) Top, B) Pair of jeans, or C) Slutty piece of cloth that could barely be defined as underwear.

"Yeah? I think the sequins really bring out my eyes." Well, sounds like a top, but I wouldn't put it past her if it were one of the other two.

"Great." I briskly walk past her, take a right, hang to the left and enter my room. My damned sanctuary. The last ounce of energy my body is containing is immediately released as I close the door, which barely shuts, and plop onto my bed.

Head-first, my landing would probably receive a 7 on a scale of 10.

I grunt to myself, which is mostly muffled by the pillow that is slowly suffocating me, and roll over onto my back. What a day. Not to sound pretentious or anything but I really don't know how my dad has made it as far as he has without me, considering the amount of people working for us right now – which I could now count on a single finger: himself, myself, and the town drunk Haymitch, who probably consumes more than he produces. It feels great to get back to work again, but I could live without the exhaustion afterwards. _I need a massage._

A thought, which even for me is ridiculous, enters the sea of crazy that is my brain as I dig into my right pocket and pull out my phone. I search through it for Cato's number, which isn't too hard to find considering it only holds two C names, with the other being my crazed Aunt Coocoo. Her name isn't really "Coocoo," that's just what I have her saved as considering she once tried to rob a bank with a rubber band and crowbar. Yeah, not the sharpest tool in the shed.

Before I make a potentially horrible decision I thumb past Cato's name on my iPhone and stop at Keira's. Hit call. It only rings once, unsurprisingly, before she answers.

"PP! Where have you been all day?! I needed to talk to you about Ricky's possible herps issue." Which happens to be something I do not want to talk about anytime soon. Or preferably ever.

"Listen, Keira. I'm kind of worn to the bone right now and I was just looking to get a little advice out of you."

"Of course you were." I hear a flush in the background, which doesn't bother me the least. Ever since we were little we'd never mind if one or the other was bare-booty naked and on the phone like most people would. It only brings a smile to my face before I dismiss it.

"Well, I was released from prison today and I was wondering if I should give...Cato a call?" I ask, nervously. Ever since our hospital jamboree Keira's mental image of my tall, blond and handsome...friend-boy was forever cemented as: "A no good spineless vag-tool who'd probably wind up in jail within the next few years." I've been desperately trying to fix that. If that's false, anyway. Which I hope it is.

"Uh. Why?" she snaps back.

"I want a massage," I plead.

"Peeta. You do know what I can do with these hands, right? Other than kill a man with half a pinky?"

I roll my eyes at the hyperbole. "Sure, but not exactly...that kind of massage." Pause. "You know?"

She thinks to herself for a moment before she answers with...a question.

"How did you even get his number, anyway?"

"I'm not exactly clear on that. I never asked for it and he never offered." An explanation comes to mind. "I think he took my phone from my backpack during math class a few days back. He probably saved his number then." That made sense. I nearly suffered a heart attack that day when it wasn't where it was supposed to be.

"Yeah, 'cause he's too much of a chicken-shit to ask you for yours."

I sigh. "Come on, K. I'm just looking for an answer here. And keep in mind I might not even go by it."

"Then why call me anyway?"

In my best heartbroken voice, "'Cause you're my bestest friend and you give the bestest advice?"

"Hm. I am pretty great, ain't I?"

"You should know the answer to that."

She sighs. "Fine." Pause. "How good was it last time?"

"Oh God, Keira. It was like a unicorn, riding a unicorn, while sipping on rainbows," I answer truthfully. "It was amazing." My mind is ravished by our last lustful encounter, and I'm reluctantly thrown back into the conversation by Keira's chuckle.

"You know that sounds super gay, right? Even for you?"

"Bite me."

"All right," she begins, taking a deep breath. "I say go for it. But, Peeta – please keep your wits about you. I know you've been smitten with the guy since, well, forever-"

"He's liked me since then, too!"

I can actually feel the roll of the eyes and the slight shake of the head she's giving me right now. "Either way, PP, he clearly doesn't want to go public. Think of it as just sex, like one of those cheesy romantic comedies, but without the falling in love part."

"Well, you never know-"

"Did you want my advice or not?" she interrupts me, voice stern. "I'm just trying to look out for you. I don't want you to get your heart broken."

She has a point. A huge "stick me with that thing and it'll probably come out the other side" one. If Cato didn't want to go public... Is that why he blew off his second confession? Did he realize all the high school drama shit we'd have to go through before I did? Would those situations even bother me?

I slowly nod my head in understanding. "I know. And you don't know how much I appreciate that. Thanks, KK."

"Well, you're very welcome," she replies, snobbily. "That'll be $300 and 23 cents. I take cash, credit-"

"I'm sure you say that to all of your clients. By the way, have you heard from Yoko lately? She hasn't called or texted me since D-day."

"No, me neither." That's a surprise. "She's been giving me the stink eye every time I pass her in the hall."

I sigh. "Yeah, me too..."

"Oh, don't worry about it. She'll come around. She always does." And that's the truth.

"Thanks again, Keira."

"Don't mention it. And, hey! Don't forget the lube! You do have-"

End of that phone conversation.

With my phone still in hand I go back to scrolling through my contacts. _Cato_. Debating on whether or not I should actually call the guy, I opt for the more impersonal texting route, that way I can actually formulate some of my thoughts before drooping down into a puddle of lust and affection at the sound of his voice. I take in a deep, deep breath, like I'm about to be submerged underwater for the next 17 hours, and get to typing.

_Hey. Cast's off. Got any plans?_

I think that's simple enough – nothing needy or anything, just a little fact and an honest question. I'm guessing he's probably sitting in front of his 360, playing…_Madden_ or God knows what, wearing nothing but a plain white T and some briefs, phone thrown across the room-

Suddenly, the loud boom of a thunder clasp startles me to awakening. _Right. That's just my phone's text alert_. I've always loved sitting near a window on a cold, dark night, the only form of light coming from the many different forms of sprites raining down from the heavens. It's comforting. I reach out to my phone, slide it open and-

_I'll b there in 15_

Oh. Oh…

_Oh._

Without really meaning to I throw my hands in the air, balled up in two strong, excited fists, my phone flying across the room and loudly _thunk_ing the wall it collides with. "_Yes_!" I hiss out. After punching the nearby air in the gut a few times, I shake myself off, regaining my composure and walk over to where the phone now rests peacefully near one of my dirty shirts. I pick it up, and-

_Cool. See you soon._

"I can't believe this is happening," I mumble to myself. A nice pinch on the ass proves otherwise. I look to the digital clock on my nightstand, with bright, neon-green numbers reporting 10:23 PM. All right. I got 14 minutes to clean this shit up. I look around my room, analyzing and formulating an elaborate and detailed plan on _how exactly is this gonna work_? Dirty clothes go flying; shoes get tossed to some God-forsaken corner; pens and papers get neatly shoved into the drawer. The blankets on my bed are pretty all over the place, so I move them around to make it look like I just woke up and lightly threw them to the side. I don't wanna overdo it or I'll look like some kind of Ted Bundy killer freak.

I rush into my bathroom, tussle with my hair a bit, before I hear a faint _knock, knock_.

Heart pounding, palms sweating, I pat myself down and head over to the far end of my room, where the sliding glass door is located. Yes, we're three-stories high, and Cato is not hovering before my window. I insisted on a porch, deck-esque sort of thing to be attached to my room, one of the only more expensive things I've ever requested from my parents. And, come on – the place is great for parties.

Stroll slowly in front of door; breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. Push aside orange curtains; grab handle; hold breath; pull to the right…and there he is. Brown leather flip flops. Fluffy, new-looking and probably expensive pair of grey sweats. Plain white T, that may or may not be one size too small for his frame. That blinding smile, those brilliant eyes, the golden spiky hair, that beautiful man.

I'm stunned into silence, taking in this God before me, _wanting_ to come into _my_ room.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," I say. We stare each other down for a few seconds, breathing each other's presence in, his hands in his pockets, my hand still holding a death grip on that damn handle.

"So…" He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking past me into my room. "Can I come in?"

"Well, you _can_, but I'm not so sure if I really_ want_ you to."

"Oh, okay," his shoulders slump, his hands now to his sides. "Guess I'll be on my-" I let go of the handle, my lifeline, finally giving in to the idea of this boy entering my sanctuary. I grab a hold of a hand, and with as much force as I can muster pull him inside. He glides by me, looking over his shoulder with a smile on his face.

"Don't be an idiot," I reply, smiling. I close the door, slowly, turn around and… _Here we are_.

"Wow," he lets out, examining the room. I examine it with him, with a new set of eyes, putting myself in Cato's shoes, trying to understand what it is he's seeing. "I like your room," he says and looks back at me. "It's very…orange."

Orange walls, orange laptop, orange pillow sheets. _Did you go a little overboard, there_?

"Yeah. My favorite color."

He plops down onto my bed, bopping up and down for a few seconds as the mattress's metal springs squeak, attempting to conform to his weight. "Oh? That's good to know." He smiles up at me. "Guess mine."

I walk over to him, stopping right in front of his parted legs, the heat from them transferring to me, fast. "Hm." I playfully tap my chin a few times, thinking so intensely. "You look like a-" I look back to him "-_red_ type of guy."

His eyebrows raise, his head slowly nodding up and down. His feet take the opportunity to wrap around the backs of my legs, while his monstrous hands find their way to my hips. "Well. You're pretty good."

I place my hands above his, tightly gripping around them, giving him a sly, devilish smile and shrug. "I know." It's then that he grunts, huskily, those bright pearls coming into view, before he finally pulls me down and on top of him. My head knocks into his, my damned clumsy self, but Cato laughs it off anyway. Our faces are inches apart now, our individual puffs of breath now mingling together, becoming one. His hands leave my hips, slowly reaching up the small of my back, underneath my shirt, nails dragging, surely leaving red streaks of pleasure, my eyes boring into his. It's then that I realize _I must smell like ass_, coming back from a 5-hour shift of constant bread baking.

I push myself off of him, gently, our hips and groins still aligned and touching, when I say, "Hold on. I just got off of work. I'm all sweaty and gross."

"Mm," he mumbles to himself, his lips thinning slightly in thought. He then launches his torso up, our chests now colliding, his head nestled into the crook of my neck. I lay there, paralyzed, as he takes in the deepest, _strongest_ breath I've ever seen – or felt, in this case – and grunts, again, that grunt that sets my soul aflame. "You smell just fine to me," he whispers into my ear. I can feel the growing stiffness in his sweats, barely contained by the flimsy material, against mine, when he _so seductively_ licks the back of my earlobe, causing me to shudder from head to toe. He brings his head back down, and our eyes meet for a brief moment. He rests his forehead on mine, we breathe, panting, and then-

He brings up his chin, slowly, and I whimper at the touch of his chapped, wanting lips against mine_. God, I've missed this way too much_. My upper lip is caught in between the two of his, as he pulls back and comes forth, me reciprocating his movements, his tongue ghosting across my now parted lips, and_ Lord_ they're both tangling together now, saliva swapping, moans escaping our souls. A gorgeous minute or two after this he pulls back, and we're both panting heavily now, our eyes meeting in pure heat, and he smiles wide, and I smile wide, and now he's reversing our positions, and I'm under him, and he's not even hovering over me but more pushing me back into the mattress, nearly crushing me under his weight, all muscle, _but I love it_.

He leans in to attack me again, but I toss my head to the side, which he doesn't understand as a "Stop" as he sucks and bites at my neck.

"Cato," I pant out. He ignores the pleading and continues the assault, before I squirm under him and he relinquishes his control of my body. I stand and walk over to the other side of my bed, staring at him. He crawls into the middle of my bed, claiming it for his own, it seems, as he gets into a more comfortable position, elbow resting on one of my completely orange pillows, palm on the side of his head, and it's now that I'm regretting the prevalent choice of color, but the thought races from my mind as I catch sight of that…_thing_ near his groin, just waiting to be released from captivity. He's clearly not ashamed, and, really, why should he be?

He catches my staring and I blush, shyly bringing my palms in front of my own erection, and he chuckles.

"What's wrong? It surely looks like you're enjoying yourself," he says, gesturing to my lap with his head, as he plops his skull down, chin first into the bed, his hands now straight to his sides, giving me puppy dog eyes.

I shake my head, turn around and walk towards my bathroom. "Can't I at least brush my teeth before one serious make-out session? _Jesus_." I reach the door, and he huffs, before I walk inside and shut it tight.

With a rejuvenated, minty-fresh scent now enveloping my body, I play with my hair again a bit, make sure I'm good to go, open the door again and-

Cato's back is resting against the plethora of enormously-downed pillows behind him, the tip of his head just below the top of the bed's headboard. His hands are behind his head now, propping it up gently, with his arms stretched out wide, relaxing, his large biceps on show just for me, his thin white shirt being forced upward, slightly exposing his rock-solid abs and…outie bellybutton? There's the grimmest sort of a smile on his face, and it's then that I notice: "Where'd your sweats go?"

He looks down to his lap before looking back at me, a slightly discouraged look coming to his face. "What? Am I missing something here?"

I shake my head. "I just didn't exactly peg you as the type to wear whitey tighties." His smirk returns as I slowly stroll to the foot of my bed, taking in the sight of this God-like blond, brown-eyed, trouser-less man in front of me, on my bed. I crawl toward him, in only my boxers now, coming to rest my behind on his lap. I can feel that he's soft again, his manhood resting peacefully under my weight. We lock eyes.

"I locked the door…" he whispers. "If that's okay."

I give him a chaste kiss to the lips before reaching over to my nightstand, pulling out the materials necessary and answer, "That's perfect." And, really, who can deny that adorable pout and slowly but surely stiffening beast beneath them?

* * *

1:48 AM. At least, that's what I think the clock reads. My head is thrown so far back, and with such force, it's a miracle I made that out at all. Thankfully my nice, comfy mattress doesn't feel like concussing me tonight.

I finished about three minutes ago – if my counting of Cato's thrusts is anything to go by. The back of my skull is so deep into the blankets now I'm afraid I'll leave a permanent crater. I can't control the arch my body's now formed in, my shoulders supporting most of my weight against the bed – along with Cato's two hands encompassing the small of my back. My whole being is continuously rocked back and forth, the power from Cato's movements shifting around my internal organs, no doubt. My inner thighs are dangling besides his outer ones as he's lifted me up, pushing in and pulling out a few more times before he's grunting and moaning my name, and _damn if I've ever heard anything so amazing in my life_, because Liszt's got nothing on this boy.

He sighs a couple of times now, before finally calling it quits and lying down beside me, nuzzling my neck from behind, much like that final day at summer camp.

"Mm. So how many times does that make it now? Four or five?" I ask in a hoarse whisper.

I can feel the smile contort his lips as he places a soft, sweet kiss to my neck. "I don't know. I lost count after our floor exercise." I chuckle alongside him and _thank God for a teenager's stamina and tightly locked doors. _

"I'm glad you came," I tell him, my voice filled with more vulnerability than I'd prefer.

"Heh. I'm glad you came, too," he jokes, and it takes me a second to realize exactly what he's saying, so I jab him in the ribs with my elbow for his insolence. He lets out a few gaspy chuckles before falling back into place. We lie there for a few minutes – him noticing the bump on my head, the burn on my arm, and giving both tiny, respectable kisses – as sleep is threatening to force us into the throes of slumber, before I realize-

"Mm, I should probably get going," Cato mumbles, beginning to pry his limbs from my body as if he were reading my every thought. I turn around to face him in a hurry, which causes him to sigh and place his golden head back onto one of my pillows. We look into each other's eyes before I break the silence.

"Why don't you stay the night?" I offer, because I've never done this before and I clearly know what I'm doing. "I know we've got school tomorrow, but you can borrow some of my baggy clothes." He wiggles his nose at that, like wearing the clothes of Peeta Mellark is some sort of crime against nature. "You can use my toothbrush?" He raises an eyebrow, not impressed. "Or...we can take a shower together," I say in a low, raspy tone. His eyes instantly widen at the thought, and I know I have him there. He smiles and leans in for a slow, final kiss which I return, before I place my head on his firm yet comfortable chest, his steady heartbeat and the sound of his stable breathing slowly lulling me to sleep.

"I would love that."

* * *

I wake up from a dreamless slumber, the most restful I've had in ages it feels, with Cato's strong arms securely wrapped around my body, holding me close to his own. It's the second time I've been granted the privilege to stare down at his peaceful, angelic face, the rising sun casting shadows across my room with just enough light to see his face clearly. I smile to myself, forgetting Keira's warnings of rejection and broken hearts, because it's all completely worth it for a chance to see what I'm seeing.

I glance at the clock – 6:31 AM, and I thank my internal alarm thoroughly for what I'm about to do next.

Being a teenaged boy I've got a fairly decent understanding of the anatomy of one, and how the morning tends to bring out...the hardness we can't quite control. As I've guessed, my left hand informs me of Cato's own issue, so I _grab _the opportunity before it slips away.

With my head under the covers it's become slightly difficult to see exactly what I want to see. My mouth's initial placement is somewhere between the bellybutton and groin area, I'm assuming, so I lower myself down, planting soft but long kisses along the way, as I finally come to a light patch of hair that tickles my lips, surrounding his throbbing erection that's now resting upon my left cheek. His musky scent drives me wild; I feel like an untamed animal then, and I'm not entirely bothered by the thought. I give the head a gentle kiss before nearly swallowing it whole, a new technique I picked up from last night's session.

Bob up, bob down; place his right jewel in my mouth, suck on it briefly; follow procedure for the other. Kiss the left side of his shaft, then the right; mouth rod again; notice Cato's breathing has picked up. He's moaning softly now, just coming into consciousness when I feel a hand grab onto the back of my head, skin and hair separated by sheets, pushing me down further, as far as my gag reflex allows me.

"Sorry," he whispers. "Just couldn't help it."

I come off with a loud pop, saying "It's okay," before going back to work. Cato begins lightly thrusting into the back of my neck, which is good, really, because it's not used to such strenuous activities this early in the morning. With each thrust there's a moan, and I can tell he's close, it's always the same with him: increasing volume, speed and amount of moans, and he's coming now and I'm about to lift myself up to avoid it when-

_Knock, knock, knock_. "Peeta!" I'm paralyzed by fear as wave after wave of his essence fills my mouth, and I'm forced to swallow it all as I dare not move with my door now opening, thanks to that damned key she has, _and really who carries around that shit at 6:30 in the morning_.

"Cover your face with a pillow!" I hiss out softly, my moving lips occasionally brushing against his softening pole.

"Morning, dear! I don't know why your door was locked but I just wanted to-" She pauses for a second, and I think _Shit shit shit I'm found out_ before she continues. "Peeta, have you been working out?"

"Mhm!" Cato mumbles through the pillow, that fearless angel of mine.

"Well, I think it's paying off," she compliments. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'm cooking a big breakfast so you better get your ass out of bed soon."

"Mhm!" Cato mumbles again, and I make a mental note to remember that particular noise as it seems to dispel frightening motherly creatures from my room.

"Okay, honey. I'll see you soon." And then she's gone as soon as she came.

I throw the covers above me off with such a force they nearly go flying from the bed. Cato's face is still covered with the pillow, and _what a shame that is_.

"Is she gone?" he asks, voice muffled.

"Mhm," I echo him and he laughs, bringing down the pillow to rest beside him, greeting me with that wide smile that I'm sure I must be mirroring.

"Well, I guess that's one way to wake up." I shake my head before leaning over his torso, and we kiss. It deepens without the intention of doing so, with me rubbing a nipple of his and he gripping the back of my neck, tightly, holding our faces together like they were never meant to be apart, breathing harder than is required.

Sooner or later it ends – I can feel Cato Junior slowly coming back to life as it kisses Peeta Junior, and I force myself off the bed, pointing to the bathroom.

"Feel like getting that shower ready?" I tease him. He doesn't verbalize any answer, just looks at me with lust-filled eyes and grunts before running to the bathroom and turning the faucet on.

I smile to myself, shaking my head with a low level of conviction. I stroll over to my computer/homework desk, flipping on the lamp beside my laptop. Falling into the chair before me, my laptop's now open, and it's straight to writing.

**When Sex is Involved, Where Does Reason Go?**

_Yesterday was my get-out-of-jail day. The torture one goes through while 25% of their body is covered in fiberglass is nothing compared to the feeling of it finally coming off. For seven long weeks I was subjected to this torture, and just yesterday I was freed from it._

_I feel like a different person now. I feel I've grown more over the past two months than I have in my entire life. Of course, that could be just unadulterated passion from last night – and this morning – talking._

_The boy who's had my heart for almost eight years now, Cato Morley, joined me and slept in my bed last night. It took three full hours to conclude our activities, and at the moment I couldn't regret it._

_There's my subconscious to worry about, though. Twenty minutes before Cato entered my room I called Keira, the best friend I might as well call my sister, and she reminded me of a few things I dared not to remind myself. Things like D-Day, our hospital encounter, where Cato couldn't come clean with his feelings for me. Though I understand the turmoil he must be going through, with his image and reputation to uphold. I silently thank Clove Nieves for publicly outing me, leaving me choice-less in the matter. But, should I really stay with a guy who would barely even acknowledge my very being in public? Is Keira right, and will my heart be broken into millions of little pieces in a matter of seconds? _

_Right now, the answers remain unclear. But, I'll leave those questions to Future Peeta for now._

Save, publish, sign out, close laptop.


End file.
